Obsession
by March Glen
Summary: A young cop finds herself entangled with a low level mob soldier despite her best intentions. Oswald is determined to rise to his rightful place in the criminal underground and he is even more determined to take her along for the ride... whether she likes it or not. Oswald/Lark.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: The story is set a few months before the first episode of Gotham and will continue into the first season. There will eventually be a rating change and lemons. Lark is the Penguin's driver and bodyguard in the comics; this is just my take on her and her relationship with Oswald in the Gotham universe and is not comic driven.

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><p>The first time I ever saw Fish Mooney was at a wake. She swaggered in dressed like a high class hooker followed by several men of dubious origin. Beautiful, yet deadly like belladonna – the flowers are divine, eat those luscious looking berries peeping out from the foliage you've just bought yourself a one way ticket to the graveyard. Fish Mooney was like belladonna; get too close and you die.<p>

She spent a little time commiserating with Joey Sabatini's grief-stricken relatives.

I had been shocked Mooney had the balls to show her face. Everyone in the neighborhood knew she ordered Joey's death. Joseph Sabatini wasn't the brightest crayon in the box, but he sure as hell didn't deserve to have his brains splattered all over Crescent Street for coming up short in his collection efforts.

Seeing that gloating bitch tormenting Joey's relatives was the moment I decided to become a cop.

Biggest mistake I ever made.

A load of files hit my desk, rattling my coffee cup so badly it nearly went over the edge. "Harvey, when are you going to start taking care of your own case files?"

The scruffy detective scratched at his neck as he looked around the room. "I dunno, Maguire, someday I suppose. How long you been here now?"

I flashed a pointed stare in the man's direction. "You are perfectly aware of how long."

"Refresh my memory," Detective Bullock requested in a friendly voice. "I'm getting old."

Setting my chin in my palm, I rolled my eyes. "Three years."

A huge grin split his face. "Right, so you are still a rookie. I think you are a _Junior_ Detective and I am…" He cupped his ear and leaned toward me.

"Senior Detective," I muttered.

Bullock smacked me on the shoulder and gave me a roguish wink. "You are starting to catch on, Maguire. I'm impressed."

The minute he turned his back, I flipped him the bird.

With the addition of Bullock's files my desk looked like a disaster area. I had three active cases and it looked like I was going to be spending my time filing instead of actually investigating. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I tilted my chair back. "God give me the strength to accept the things I cannot change…"

A dull thud echoed and the shattering of my coffee cup startled me.

Lieutenant Bill Cranston had just dumped another shitload of case files on my desk. He was chewing gum, his hands resting on his waist as he shook his head. "You're falling behind on my files, Maguire. I suggest more filing and less praying."

I stared at the man. Cranston was the biggest asswipe in the entire GCPD. Dirty cop didn't even begin to describe his long and nefarious list of illegal activities. Harvey Bullock was a freaking saint next to this guy.

Why he was lingering next to my desk was beyond me.

I stood with a stack of files. Cranston smirked. "Yes?"

He snapped his gum. "You ever go dancing?"

My stomach was a mass of knots. I was quite aware Cranston liked me in his own disgusting and filthy way. Mom tried to tell me I was paranoid, but once you've caught a man peeking down your blouse or staring at your ass when you bend over giving said person the benefit of the doubt just means you are stupid.

"Uh, not so much," I managed politely as I stepped around him.

Instead of taking the hint, Cranston followed me toward the file room. "What about dinner? I know this great Chinese place around the corner."

I was saved from answering by Captain Essen's shout. "Cranston! Get in my office. I have a reporter on the phone about the Normand case."

He frowned. "I'll talk to you again later."

I groaned as started walking. "Not if I eat my service revolver first."

* * *

><p>My filing was nearly complete, six hours of shit work all tidily compartmentalized per department regulations. I stood and massaged the crick screaming in my lower back. Now I had at least two more hours to actually work on my open cases.<p>

The door to the filing room flew open. "There you are, Maguire. Have you been in here all day?"

I could feel my cheeks burning as Captain Essen leveled a pointed look in my direction. "I was really behind. It won't happen again."

She sighed and shook her head. "I hope not. Come on, I'm dispatching you to an assault complaint on Eastman."

The GCPD was so far behind that every department from vice to robbery to homicide pulled available cops to handle initial investigations until someone in the appropriate department was free to follow up. I might be in homicide, but if this was an emergency I was working the assault.

"Was the suspect collared?"

Essen laughed. "If only we could catch a break like that. No such luck. Some poor schmuck was beaten to a bloody pulp outside the Lehmann Deli. Patrol is at the scene and they reported the victim is refusing to press charges."

"Great," I breathed. "Domestic situation?" Any cop worth their salt will tell you a domestic call was the absolute worst aside from crimes involving children. More police were attacked on duty while answering domestic calls than any other crime.

People were bat shit crazy in this town.

"No," Essen seemed relieved. "Patrol thinks the beating was gang related, but since the victim won't tell us his side of the story we can't be sure. Go down there and have a chat with our victim and see if you can convince him to cooperate."

"Yes ma'am." I was all too happy to get the hell out of the building and grab some fresh air. My gut was telling me the victim wasn't about to rat out his attacker.

Snitching in Gotham had a tendency to leave a person dead.

* * *

><p>The ride over only took forty minutes <em>with<em> the siren and lights – I broke a record!

Hiding my sarcastic tendencies behind a pleasant mask, I elbowed my way through the dwindling crowd of onlookers, or vultures as I preferred to call them, to the crime tape. I was always amazed at how many people love to gawk at the misfortune of others.

Gotham just warmed the cockles of my heart at times, truly.

Pulling out my badge, I nodded at the young patrolman and he lifted the tape.

A soft male voice filled with fear was steadily rising somewhere behind the ambulance. "Please just let me leave. I'm not that badly hurt…"

I looked at the cop beside me. "How bad is it?"

He snorted and shook his head. "The paramedic says this guy has cracked ribs. He insists he is good to go home, but he won't give us his name or produce any identification." Leaning his dark head next to mine, he lowered his voice. "I think he is a little loco. Wait until you see him."

My brow rose.

"He looks like a nerd from the thirties or something; really proper in a weird sort of way. Kind of a freak."

I smiled. "Great."

No need for subtlety, I strolled around the ambulance like I owned it. Sargent Parker and Officer Tosi stood on either side of a man perched on the concrete curb. He was sitting with his head between his hands, elbows propped on the boniest knees I had ever seen.

"Please let me leave."

I nodded to Parker and he left with Tosi. Since the victim and I were fairly shielded from the street by the ambulance and building beside us, I felt secure in questioning the victim on site. "I'm afraid we can't let you leave just yet. I understand you are pretty badly hurt and refusing medical attention."

He raised his head and I swallowed my dismayed gasp.

One side of his face was badly distended – purple contusions discoloring his pale flesh. He had a busted lip and one eye was swollen shut. Blood was leaking from his left nostril. His black hair was so badly mussed it was standing on end and his clothes were ripped and disheveled.

The other side of his face sported a couple of minor scratches but seemed otherwise normal. A bright blue-green eye was staring at me. He seemed to be brimming with despair. The patrol officer was right that this guy was oddly proper in dress; he wore an elaborate suit with a forest green waistcoat. The clothing had been elegant before the tussle.

I held out my hand. "I'm Detective Emily Maguire and you are?"

He stared at my hand for a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity before extending his own. "Oswald Cobblepot." Though his hand was long and slender, I could feel his strength as we shook.

Tired, I lowered myself to the curb beside him.

Oswald watched me carefully. I could see his mind was turning. "Why was a detective called in on a small misunderstanding?"

I clucked my tongue. "I think we both know this was a bit more than a routine mugging." I pulled a clean handkerchief from my jacket pocket and handed it to him. "Here, your nose is still bleeding."

He ducked his head and dabbed gingerly at his nose. "Thank you."

I nodded. "Ribs hurt?"

He laughed hysterically; the sound dying off with a sharp grunt of pain. "They told you about my ribs. Look, Detective Maguire, I had a-an… incident. There is no need for all this fuss, I assure you."

"Please don't insult my intelligence by insinuating you fell down and did all this to yourself." I released a dark chuckle and shook my head.

Oswald finally looked at me. His good eye was pleading with me for understanding. "No, I most certainly did not fall. I really can't speak about the details of what happened." He lowered his voice; a begging tone invading my ears. "I refuse to file a report or press any charges."

My head was starting to hurt. "I had a feeling you might say that." Squinting against the dying light, I wanted nothing more than a long tropical vacation away from Gotham. My brother had mentioned putting in a transfer. Miami was starting to sound pretty damn good right about now. "I can respect your wishes but I would feel better if you went to the emergency room and saw a doctor."

He was a bundle of nerves. I was seated so close to him, I could almost feel his trembling.

"Broken ribs are no joke. If one of those ribs punctures a lung you could die."

Finally Oswald looked my way. "I can't afford the ambulance never mind the hospital."

I nodded. "I'll talk to the girls in admitting and see what Gotham General can do for you. I can drive you to the hospital and bring you home after the x-rays if you like."

"Why are you doing this?" I don't know if I was more startled by the question or the soft menace in his voice. "I'm not some pathetic charity case."

"I never said you were, Oswald." I simply felt sorry for the guy. No one deserved a beating like he received. It pissed me off I would never catch the man who hurt him. "Let me help you."

Oswald's expression softened. "I'm sorry if I offended you. Normally my manners are better than this."

I stood and held out my hand. "Completely understandable, Oswald, I think you had a pretty rough day."

He hissed in pain as I helped him stand. Cobblepot was average height, but taller than me by a few inches, and built lean. He looked like he could use a good meal – probably more than one. I wasn't able to judge his age accurately due to the grotesque swelling on the left side of his face but I suspected he was my age or maybe a couple years younger.

Wrapping my arm gingerly around his waist, I helped him to my car past three shocked officers and an astounded paramedic. "I'm taking this gentleman to Gotham General. No charges are being pressed so see that the area is cleared."

Oswald bit down savagely on his lower lip as we neared my sedan.

I settled him inside as gently as possible before rounding the car. When I slipped behind the wheel, he was watching me from beneath hooded eyes. I drove, he stared at me. I felt like a tissue sample under a microscope and it unnerved me.

* * *

><p>Nine hours later we were back in the sedan.<p>

My eyes were red-rimmed and sore with exhaustion. I ran my hands over my face and slumped back in my seat. It was just after three in the morning and long after my bedtime. Numerous cups of really bad coffee and one soggy roast beef sandwich from a vending machine was all that kept me from zonking out next to a group of sketchy looking prostitutes in the waiting room.

The last thing I needed was to be rolled on the waiting room floor.

Oswald had two cracked ribs and numerous contusions to the left side of his face. He was written up as indigent - one of the girls in admitting owed me a favor – and given a prescription for codeine. He reminded me of a wilted plant the way he draped himself against the seat.

"Where do you live?"

He never opened his eyes. "640 West 10th Street, Apartment 7D."

I frowned but made no reply. Poor guy lived in one of the worst slums in Gotham.

The drive from the hospital was relatively short and I parked in front of the building. It was a typical structure a good twenty stories high created from concrete and steel. Every apartment building on the block looked the same.

Oswald was quiet aside from a pained grunt as we stepped up onto the curb. He was nearly grey by the time we stepped off the elevator. I admired his raw determination not to show any weakness in my presence – I knew he had to be in agony.

He dropped a hand into his trouser pocket and fished out a set of keys. Oswald opened the door and flicked on the light. His place was small and cramped, but surprisingly neat. Most guys our age were slobs that I knew. He stepped inside and inclined his head toward me. "Thank you, Detective Maguire."

"No problem," I pulled a card from my pocket and pressed it into his elegant hands. "Give me a call if you need help or if you decide to press charges."

Oswald stared at the card. "I will."

"Good night," I ventured quietly and left. My heart was warmed by the clicking of Oswald's lock; one could never be too safe in this city. "Time to go home."


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks to Fucshia. Grasshopper, Ceville, and Guests for reviewing!**

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><p>Fish Mooney had me in her office two days after the unfortunate incident with Juan Santiago.<p>

I was just going about my business collecting the money due Miss Mooney on Eastman Avenue when Santiago came up behind me with a bat. I must admit the entire affair was beyond humiliating. Not only did I receive a severe trouncing in front of all Miss Mooney's clientele but the police were called.

Personally, I think Franz Lehmann dialed 911 in the vain effort to avoid paying his dues for Miss Mooney's protection. Eastman was part of her territory and all the businesses paid homage. In return for their patronage, Miss Mooney made sure that robberies and muggings in the area were kept to a minimum.

The emergency room doctor was very clear in ordering me to stay away from any strenuous physical activities. I was unaware that a minor fracture of the ribs needed to heal naturally – no bindings to brace me up. It turns out binding fractured ribs hindered breathing and could lead to pneumonia. He handed me a codeine prescription and told me the fractures would heal in six weeks provided I didn't overdo.

Looking into Miss Mooney's cold gaze, I doubted she was going to offer me sick leave.

"You poor dear," she murmured in a voice that was disturbingly reminiscent of my mother. "Oswald you look absolutely wretched. How are you feeling?"

I swallowed the lump rapidly forming in my throat. Fish Mooney was many things, but sincere and caring were missing from her repertoire. Every word had to be measured carefully and crafted skillfully to please the woman before me. One wrong move and I would be out on the street… in a body bag no doubt.

"Not the best," I admitted. "I feel like a taxi ran me down."

She nodded. "A bat to the head has a way of draining a man of his vigor. Are you certain it was Senõr Santiago who struck you? Juan has always been so generous with his payments and he is on time every month. I could set a watch by that man."

"Yes Miss Mooney," I forced my eyes to remain on hers. To look away might be interpreted as dishonesty and I had the bad habit of breaking eye contact when nervous. "He was visible to me as he tried to split my skull."

Fish frowned. "Pity, I always liked Juan. Did he say anything to you during the attack?"

My lips twisted into a grimace and I coughed uncomfortably. I had rather been hoping to avoid this part of the conversation.

"What did he say?" She demanded. "I'm not going to punish you in his stead."

I coughed again, my ribs aching, and spat the filthy utterance out quickly. "He told me to tell you to go get fucked and he wasn't paying you a dime in the future." I despised cursing at women; it was disgusting and low class.

Fish remained stock still, her face impassive. "Did Juan have any other words of wisdom he imparted to you Oswald?"

Tugging at my tie, I frowned. "Spanish is not my forte…"

"Luckily it is mine," she replied. "Just tell me whatever you remember."

I cleared my throat. "Metetelo por el fundillo, puta, and pendejo, but honestly the rest of his shouting was garbled."

Fish raised one eyebrow. "Oh my, how very rude of Juan. He has developed a dirty, disrespectful mouth. First he steals my money, beats my employee, and then calls me names. I suppose I will have to send Butch down to deal with this." She shook her head and began studying her nails.

I reached into my pocket and laid a thick cream envelope on the desk between us.

Surprise crossed her face. "What is this?"

"Juan didn't steal the money. I hid the collection envelope from him."

Fish smirked. "Do I want to know where?"

My face burned. "I doubt it." I held her gaze. "I apologize for not calling and telling you about the money but between the medication and pain I wasn't in my right mind."

She loosed a dark chuckle and leaned forward. "I think you can be excused under the circumstances. How much is there?"

"Everything owed aside from payment by the Lehmann Deli. Mr. Santiago attacked me before I had a chance to collect the funds."

Her eyes widened beneath the hot pink fringe angling over her brow. Fish Mooney was a beautiful woman despite her penchant toward harlot's clothing. She may have been sexy to most men; I found her lack of elegance appalling. "You made the full rounds?"

I simply nodded.

Fish snorted. "Honey, consider yourself promoted to host in the club. I need people like you. Loyalty, Oswald, should be rewarded. You keep doing well by me and the sky is the limit in my organization. How did you manage to finagle your way out of a trip to GCPD Headquarters? I would have expected the cops to question you."

A small smile crossed my lips with the remembrance of concerned honey-brown eyes. "The police officer was quite sympathetic to my plight. She helped me out."

"Free of charge?"

"Yes," I replied softly. "She was very kind."

She stood and laid a hand on my shoulder; her fingers splayed over my jacket like talons. "Let me give you a piece of advice, Oswald. Whoever this cop is, you cultivate a friendship with her. I have to pay for sympathy from the GCPD. Get a cop in your pocket for free; you have a leg up in this town."

I nodded.

Fish seemed satisfied and favored me with a curt nod. "Take three days off. Stop on your way out and Mario will give you an advance on your paycheck."

Stunned would not have covered my reaction. I stood slowly so as not to jar my ribs. "Yes, Miss Mooney. Thank you."

She winked and disappeared from the room in a swish of blazing orange silk.

I took a moment to drink in the grandeur of Fish Mooney's office. The furnishings and silk print wallpaper were overwhelmingly opulent and not at all to my taste. A smiled crossed my lips at the thought of redecorating once Miss Mooney was gone.

After all, she was giving me the opportunity of my dreams and I have never been the sort to squander gifts.

Time off was an unexpected bonus. I knew exactly how I was going to spend my mini-vacation.

* * *

><p>Flush with cash, I paid the cab driver and emerged onto Lower Ward Street. The man I needed to see was rarely agreeable to visitors, but I was certain he would see me today. Money in and of itself interested me little. I preferred all the perks that came along with having money – status, power, and respect.<p>

The row of brownstones on either side of the street represented class.

One day I would live in a similar abode.

The stairs leading up to the particular brownstone I needed presented a challenge. Razor sharp pain ripped through me with every step I climbed. The old-fashioned door-knocker was a roaring lion. I smiled at the symbolism.

I only had to knock once before he answered.

A once tall, now stooping elderly man with a squint and perpetual grimace loomed in the threshold. "I'll be damned. Oswald Cobblepot."

I smiled and pulled off my sunglasses. "Yes sir."

"What the hell do you want?" Leo Arbinger was not a patient man; in fact he was renowned for his rudeness. "I don't have all day. Jeopardy is playing, hurry up."

I plucked a hundred dollar bill from my trouser pocket and held it aloft as a peace offering. The funds should have gone toward more mundane concerns such as food and rent but I needed very specific information. Mr. Arbinger could provide me what I desired for a price.

Avarice gleamed in the old man's eyes.

"I need a home address for a GCPD homicide detective."

Leo snorted. "I should have known. The simple stuff never comes when Jeopardy is on. Gimme a name."

"Emily Maguire."

He nodded. "Hang on and I'll be back in a few minutes." The door was firmed shut in my face.

Ten minutes inched by at a snail's pace. My ribs ached dully; I had to fight the urge to rub them. The autumn air was soft and scented with the fresh crispness of falling leaves and the sweet tang of apples. My mouth watered at the thought of food as I hadn't partaken since the previous evening.

The door opened just as I was making ready to consult my watch.

Leo handed me a small slip of paper with legible, neat block print writing. "Here you go. Try not to come around when Jeopardy is on." He accepted the bill from me and closed the door with finality.

_1223 Weston Boulevard, Apartment 5F._

My brow rose just a little. Weston was a great neighborhood – lots of unique shops and loads of restaurants. Condominiums and ultra-modern lofts pervaded the area. Emily hadn't seemed the type to prefer the crass, cookie cutter trend so many people followed nowadays. There was uniqueness about Detective Maguire. Her choice of domicile was very disappointing.

I hope she proved the woman I imagine her to be.

* * *

><p>My blood was singing in my veins. Every sense in my body heightened. This was my last free day before I had to return to work. Perhaps staying home in bed would have proved a better choice than tramping all over town. My body ached and throbbed but I never felt more alive.<p>

Detective Emily Maguire went about her business as though in a stupor. She never once noticed me in the time I had been tailing her. I took the same bus as she did, ate in the same restaurants, and even stood behind her in line for coffee. When she jogged in the park at sundown, I was sitting on the bench across from her apartment building as she passed by.

There was a preoccupation in her mien that was worrisome. I sincerely hoped she paid better attention on the job than she did after hours. A shooting or stabbing might end Emily and I found the idea vexing to say the least.

The thrill of watching her hadn't died. Instead the opposite occurred. The more I observed her, my compulsion to continue following Emily grew stronger. Drug use had never interested me but now I was beginning to understand the concept of addiction.

Emily Maguire had treated me with dignity in our encounter. The kindness she exuded was intoxicating, I wanted more. In this city compassion was a rare commodity and one which could be useful to me over time.

Today Emily had left GCPD Headquarters and ducked into a small Chinese restaurant. She picked a seat at the window. Cupping her chin in her hand, elbows firmly planted on the tabletop, Emily gazed out at the people passing by. Her dark eyes had a glazed quality as though daydreaming.

My seat on the bench outside was directly opposite the window and gave me an excellent view. I was amused to no end by the fact she was looking directly at me and never noticed my presence. While I suppose some men might become irritated, her distraction served a purpose for now. There was ample time for me to become better acquainted with the good detective at a later date.

I watched her pick at her food before throwing down money in a rushed gesture.

Emily passed me by and headed back toward GCPD headquarters. Her thick hair was held up in a tight bun at the nape of her neck; my fingers itched to pull out each pin so the silken mass would descend over my hands. The detective didn't ooze raw sexuality like Miss Mooney and the girls working at her club. No, Emily was refined, elegant even, and it was that very quality which drew me like a moth to a flame. Her frame was long and willowy with graceful feminine curves much like an artistic interpretation in marble.

Following her to a crime scene was too dangerous to contemplate. I might have a run in with another officer who could recognize me from Miss Mooney's club. Perhaps resting the rest of the day would be appropriate.

I needed someone in my corner, someone loyal to me alone. I wanted that someone to be Emily Maguire – she was the raw material I was looking for. Now I simply needed to convince her to trust me. Once she did, I would mold her and cultivate her talents.

I decided at that moment Emily and I were compatible. I was going to have her.

Feeling lighter than I had in days, I hailed a cab.

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><p><strong>I intend to rotate perspectives between Emily and Oswald every few chapters. I didn't want any confusion over the narration change.<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks so much for reviewing Franny C., Adreena, and FucshiaGrasshopper, I really appreciate it!**

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><p>Three weeks after my dealings with Cobblepot, I ran into him unexpectedly.<p>

Since the assault complaint, I had closed one of my open cases. Celebrating a rare victory, I decided to take a few days off. Captain Essen was supportive of the decision, Bullock and Cranston not so much. In my absence they had to file their own paperwork since it would be a tad suspicious if files mysteriously piled up on my desk. Neither man wanted Essen investigating their bad habits.

I decided to enjoy my time with activities I normally wasn't able to indulge while working – visiting my favorite bookstore, grabbing a leisurely lunch at a nice café, and enjoying the autumn foliage in the park.

Everyone needed time off in order to feel normal, I was no exception.

Hummingbird Books was the best bookstore in town as far as I was concerned. Situated between an Indian restaurant and a funky clothes shop peddling everything from Victorian corsets to beaded gowns from the 1960s and everything in between, Hummingbird was unique. The front was painted bright yellow and the sign featured the store's namesake fluttering around a hibiscus flower. Inside was decorated with bright pops of color and large sky blue velvet chairs for reading. Rows and rows of books belied the small size the storefront portrayed.

My hand was on the doorknob when a vaguely familiar voice stopped me in my tracks.

"Detective Maguire! Fancy meeting you here." The soft tone of the man's voice blended with the utmost politeness was distinctive to only one person I knew.

Turning, I was surprised to find none other than Oswald Cobblepot standing on the pavement behind me. He seemed taller and exuded a sense of calm and cheer I found appealing. I couldn't help but smile at him. "How are you?" I stepped away from the door so other patrons could enter. "You look so much better."

Oswald's face was back to normal, only a slight yellowing on his left cheek gave any hint to the horrible beating he endured. His pale face was oval with a strong chin, sharp cheekbones, a long pointed nose, generous mouth, and large, penetrating eyes of a startling blue-green hue. He was a good-looking man, though a bit too dapper with his clothing to suit my taste. He was dressed in an immaculate dark suit that only emphasized his exceptionally slender body – the style favored in the 1930s.

In my jeans, blouse, and leather jacket I was woefully underdressed compared to him.

A smile lit his face and exposed a mouthful of slightly crooked teeth that told me he had little, if any, access to routine dental care. Surprisingly, his teeth did not detract from his overall appearance. "I have b-been quite well, Detective."

I laughed in return. "I'm glad to hear it. I'm off duty so please feel free to call me Emily."

His smile faded a little and his eyes exuded a strange vulnerability. Oswald ducked his head as he nodded. "Emily." He hesitated and it hit me out of the blue – he was _shy_. "This is the best bookstore in town; I used to come here a lot when I was younger."

"I don't spend as much time here as I'd like." When he raised his eyes, I grinned. "Work."

He nodded. "I understand. I find myself quite busy as of late with work as well. Would you care for a cup of coffee?"

The Mocha Express was just down the street. I wanted to refuse on principle – it wasn't a good idea to cozy up to crime victims. My stomach rumbling and a dearth of decent companionship aside from my family made the decision for me. The last of my college friends moved away from Gotham six months back.

Maybe I was a snob, but I tried not to rub elbows with too many cops. Most were on the take or owed favors to unsavory people. Though I was far from the only cop operating on the straight and narrow; finding someone who held the same ideals was difficult. Open your trap to the wrong officer and bitch about corruption you could find yourself on a dangerous call with no backup.

Bullock was an exception, he was for the most part a decent guy and once a month we tossed back a beer. I kept my nose out of his affairs. He kept an eye out for me in return and occasionally offered a sage word of wisdom here or there.

Loneliness wasn't something I liked to admit, but I felt the keen jab nonetheless.

"Sure," I replied lightly.

Oswald startled me by offering his arm. The courtly gesture was one I hadn't encountered before. Most men in the city would let the door slam in your face sooner than open it for you. I was touched and looped my arm around his elbow.

He led me to the café at a leisurely pace and even opened the door for me. We ordered two chocolate croissants, one cup of chai tea (for him), and an espresso for me. Oswald took out his wallet at the same time I opened my purse.

"No," he stated in a firm tone. "I insist on paying. You helped me when I was in trouble and this is the least I can do to thank you."

I opened my mouth to protest, but the surprisingly stern look on his face silenced me. I pointed at a table close to the window and he smiled before turning his attention to the cashier. Once seated, I enjoyed the smell of strong coffee and sweet pastry wafting through the small, elegant shop.

Oswald found me luxuriating in the weak sunlight like a cat. He sat across from me and folded his arms over his stomach. "You look younger than when we first met. I think employment in law enforcement disagrees with you."

"I'm twenty-seven," I confided with a smirk. "Law enforcement might have been a bad choice. I have a degree in law, but I never took the bar."

His brow rose. "Why not? You certainly are intelligent enough to pass."

I shrugged. "Right around the time I was weighing all my options, I attended the funeral for my brother's friend. His death seemed incredibly unjust so I joined the GCPD instead."

"Tragic, I'm sorry to hear of your friend's death," Oswald remarked quietly before looking out the window. "You are a good person, I benefited from your career choice. Maybe you should rethink your life. I'm certain you could still pass the bar."

The waitress brought us our order and we ate with gusto; neither of us were bashful eaters. We were enjoying our beverages when I decided to break the quiet surrounding us. "So how old are you?"

Oswald smiled. "Twenty-five."

"You seem so much more mature than most guys our age."

"My mother had great expectations regarding my behavior," he explained before sipping his chai. "Most of my friends growing up were adults. Children are cruel and if you are just the slightest bit different…" Oswald turned his head toward the window, but I caught the haunted expression deep in his eyes.

Oswald Cobblepot's entire persona screamed bully magnet.

"Say no more, I understand."

He released a soft, disbelieving snort. "No offense, but you seem like the epitome of the popular girl. I'm sure you had a plethora of friends all through school."

"I had a few friends," I acknowledged. "But I had a whole lot more enemies. I was a total geek in school – braces, glasses, member of the chess club. Trust me when I say I could tell you stories guaranteed to curl your hair."

Oswald reached across the table; capturing my hand. He remained entranced by the people on the sidewalk passing by. I jumped as he nonchalantly rubbed his thumb over my wrist. "I knew you were an empathetic person," his voice was so velvety, compelling in a fashion both frightening and intoxicating.

"So kind…" Oswald met my eyes. "You are different from most people I know in this city."

I felt he was wrapping us in a silken cocoon with his voice. Part of me wanted to yank my hand back from his chilly flesh and flee his presence. He had a strange power over me and he stirred up _feelings._ Emotion was not my forte. No matter how much I wanted to leave, I couldn't make myself do it. I was enjoying Oswald's company. I wanted to spend some time being normal for a change – just a woman appreciating simple friendship. My job sure as hell didn't leave me with the warm fuzzies.

"Oswald," I cleared my throat and shook my head to clear out the candy floss cobwebs. "What is your occupation?"

He never released my hand. "I work in a nightclub in the entertainment district." Well that was vague as hell.

I leaned forward until we were separated by inches; I could smell sweet spiciness from the chai on his breath. His eyes strayed from mine, ghosting across my face and down my neck before resting on my lips. The way he looked at me was as heady as being touched. The chasteness of his perusal was astonishing, his gaze never dropping toward my chest.

The bashfulness he displayed earlier had vanished.

"You work in a nightclub doing what exactly?"

Oswald smiled and his eyes snapped to mine. "I'm afraid if I shared details our friendship might end and that would be a pity since it has just begun."

I froze and his smile deepened – in that moment I realized how strong willed Oswald Cobblepot was beneath his soft, mild exterior. My throat turned dry. "The beating was associated with your job, wasn't it?"

"Please," Oswald drew my hand up to his mouth. The warmth of his breath brushed against my knuckles. He never put his lips to my skin but the effect was no less sensual.

I swallowed a whimper.

He seemed nervous and turned his attention to my hand. "Don't spoil our acquaintance with questions."

My blood was surging through my veins – pooling in my belly. I was on fire just from Oswald holding my hand. The reaction was unacceptable.

I pulled my hand from his and stood. "I have to go. Thank you for coffee, Oswald."

"You're welcome," he replied quietly; a secret, strange smile on his lips. "We'll see each other soon."

Logic demanded I tell him no immediately. Instead, I gathered my effects; managing a tremulous smile in return. All the way out of the shop I could feel his eyes on me. I forgot all about Hummingbird Books and hailed a cab.

* * *

><p>I arrived home a few hours later, laden down with dry cleaning, the groceries, and my mail. My studio apartment was in a downtown loft. The entire feel was impersonal, modern, and somewhat industrial, but it was clean and simple. More important, the rent was cheap and the neighborhood was decent.<p>

What more could a girl ask for?

I was in the middle of hanging up the dry cleaning when the doorbell rang.

Checking the peephole, I was shocked to find a young man with a large bouquet of flowers on my doorstep. I unlocked the door. "Can I help you?"

Good looking in the All American way, like a baseball player, the delivery man flashed a mouthful of blinding white teeth in my direction. "Are you Emily Maguire?"

"Yeah," I eyed the man with distrust.

He held out the bouquet and handed me a clipboard. "Well it seems to be your lucky day – these are for you, ma'am."

I reluctantly signed and instantly the clipboard was gone; replace with a huge bouquet wrapped neatly in clear cellophane and tied with a deep blue velvet ribbon. "Who sent the flowers?"

"Dunno," he shrugged. "I just make deliveries."

Inside, I searched for a vase and tried not to panic. No one had ever sent me flowers. Certainly not two dozen white roses. The sweet smell filled the apartment before long. I took my time arranging them and searching for a card.

Down toward the center of the bouquet, the card was peeping out between two particularly lush blooms. I picked it up and swallowed my nerves in one large gulp. My hands shook as I read the elegant cursive script:

'_I can never adequately express my pleasure in your charming company. Regards, Oswald.'_

A few hours and distance from the young man gave me a whole lot of perspective.

Oswald Cobblepot, enchanting as he may be, was involved in criminal activities. Said involvement resulted in an epic ass thrashing which apparently hadn't smartened him up as he was, per his own words, still working a disreputable job. I suspected he was in collections for some mob figure, most likely a cappo, and Oswald sounded like he was going to be continuing on.

Becoming involved with a member of Gotham's mafia was a _very_ bad idea… especially since I am a cop.

The last thing I needed was to have my reputation besmirched as the comare of a low-ranking mob soldier. Or a high-ranking one for that matter. In fact it was _**stupid**_ to even think of entertaining a friendship with Oswald.

I may not be the most beautiful girl on the block, but I prided myself on not being a fool.

I finished the arrangement and filled it with water. I left the bouquet on the kitchen counter and headed straight for the bathroom. I needed a cold shower and a good night's rest. Tomorrow I would head back to work and all this idiocy would be behind me.

* * *

><p>"What the hell are you doing here?" The gruff voice of Harvey Bullock greeted me as I approached my desk.<p>

I shot him a sickly sweet smile. "I guess I just missed you so much I couldn't stay away. Did you manage some quality time in the file room?"

His eyes narrowed and he turned back to the file he was studying. "Funny Maguire, so funny I forgot to laugh."

I had barely put posterior to chair when a loud obnoxious voice boomed across the entire department. "Well, well if you aren't a sight for sore eyes, Detective Maguire!" Cranston crossed the room and sat on the edge of my desk. "I thought you had another day off. You missed me so much you couldn't take being away another second."

I cringed and sank in my seat as Bullock looked up from his desk.

Cranston began running his thumb over his silvering mustache. "So how about that lunch? The Chinese place around the corner is a blast."

Bullock pulled his hat off and sat it on the edge of his desk. "Cranston, leave the kid alone. She is a good twenty years younger than you."

"So what?" Cranston retorted. "I like my pussy tight and fresh."

"You're disgusting!" I spat.

Bullock shook his head. "Classy, Cranston, real classy. If Maguire doesn't want to date you after that suave comment, I'd be shocked."

Cranston looked down at me and slowly removed himself from my desk. "Uh-oh, you look upset."

I held up my arm and proudly displayed my middle finger. "Piss off and go meditate on the meaning of 'no fraternization policy'."

"No need to get so bitchy," Cranston grouched as he crossed the room and tugged on his jacket.

The moment he was gone I released a sigh of relief. Running my hands over my face, I unlocked my drawer and pulled my files out. Not more than ten minutes passed when Bullock's voice enveloped me like fog as I scribbled a few notes.

"Is there any way I could convince you to do me a favor?"

Rolling my eyes, I dropped the pencil and turned my chair in his direction. "What sort of favor?"

Harvey looked around and crooked his finger; beckoning me over to his desk. I sighed and went to him. He tugged at his sloppy tie and seemed uneasy. "I, ah, forgot a little something of mine while I was speaking to a confidential source yesterday. Seeing as I'm bogged down at the moment, could you go back and make the pickup for me?" His voice lowered. "I would be real grateful if you could help me out."

I raised one eyebrow. "So first I get stuck with your case files and now I am your gopher girl?"

He made a shushing sound as my voice rose. "Look, I wouldn't ask if I had the time, but I don't and I could use the help."

Despite my growing anger, I couldn't deny Bullock had helped me a time or two. He might be a thoughtless clod at times, but he did have a good heart. I gave a reluctant nod. "Fine, what did you forget and where do I need to go?"

A half-smile played over his lips. "I forgot my wallet at Fish Mooney's club."

"Are you kidding?!" I hissed under my breath.

Harvey looked confused; his eyebrows knotting in the center of his brow. "No. What's the problem?"

I snorted. "She is a criminal, a mob boss, and you want me to just waltz in and retrieve your wallet?"

He was completely straight-faced. "Yeah."

"I don't even want to know how you left your wallet behind," I muttered.

Harvey had the good grace to look sheepish.

Holding up my hands to ward off an unwanted explanation, I headed to my desk. "Never mind! The less I know, the happier I'll be."

"Hey, that has been my mantra for years." Harvey smiled at me. "Thanks Maguire."

I rolled my eyes, coat in hand, and headed to the door. Now I wasn't just a glorified file clerk, I _was_ also a gopher girl.

Maybe Oswald Cobblepot was right… perhaps I needed another line of work.


	4. Chapter 4

**FuchsiaGrasshopper, Adreena, Franny C, Ceville, Dreamweaver74, Aaron, and Guests: Thanks so much for reviewing!**

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><p>The second time I met Fish Mooney was in service to Harvey Bullock retrieving his wallet.<p>

I parked in front of the club and pulled down my visor showing my GCPD placard. The last thing I needed was to find a parking ticket on my vehicle. Tying my coat securely, I straightened my lapels before heading into the club.

The doors opened wide to reveal a cavernous, very elegant nightclub I would have never associated with Mooney in a million years. I stood awkwardly beside the hostess station waiting for someone to show. Since I had no investigative business in the joint, it seemed rude just to traipse through.

I was like a vampire on my own time – I preferred an invitation before entering someone else's domicile.

The fact the doors had been open was almost as shocking as the fact no one was around.

Minutes ticked by and I was starting to get edgy. I had plenty to do back at headquarters.

Just as I laid a hand on the door to leave, a harsh voice stopped me in my tracks.

"Whatya doing in here, girlie?"

I turned to find one of Fish Mooney's goons staring me down. He was at least six feet tall and built like a brick shithouse. A crooked, thick nose indicated he had moderate experience fighting. Glowering from beneath a heavy brow, his features were coarse and unappealing.

Smiling, I pulled out my badge. "Hey, I'm Detective Maguire. Detective Bullock sent me down here to recover his wallet. It seems he left it behind."

The man's lips twisted into a sneer. "He sure did. Stay put and I'll get the damn thing."

Shoving my badge back into my pocket, I sighed and waited.

A full fifteen minutes passed before the thug returned. He loomed over me like a dark, ominous cloud. My stomach tightened as an unpleasant grin stretched his lips wide. "Ain't you Martin Maguire's kid?"

My heart sank like a stone.

Keeping a pleasant smile on my face, I gave a curt nod. "Yes, I am."

"It takes a special brand of crazy to run into a fire when everyone else is running out."

"Courage," I corrected the man. "Firemen are courageous people and we should admire them."

He snorted. "Even the ones who commit arson for cash?"

My smile slipped. "You really shouldn't listen to nasty gossip. My father was a good man and he wasn't an arsonist." Anger was flaring inside me. The same old rumor had been dogging me and my family since my father died in the Westvale Hotel fire when I was seventeen.

He tilted his head and grinned at me exposing a mouthful of ugly gold teeth. "I think Don Falcone attended your daddy's funeral for a reason and it wasn't your old man's courage."

I winced, holding out my hand. "Give me the wallet."

"Did I hurt your feelings?" He breathed out. "Poor little baby."

"The wallet," I countered sharply.

The shuffling of feet made me sharply aware we had company.

He grinned. "You gonna slap a pair of cuffs on me if I don't cooperate? You stink of corruption just like your old man."

White hot rage seared through me. I shrugged out of my jacket and tossed it on the hostess stand before drawing my gun.

"I suppose you're gonna shoot me." He taunted.

Carefully, I set the gun on top of my jacket. "No," I remarked, rolling up my sleeves. "I don't need the gun to deal with you." Every sane thought had fled and I was left wanting revenge.

Excited chatter was taking place behind the mountain of muscle I was facing.

"Any time you want to give me the wallet and apologize, I'll stop." I offered.

He laughed. "Now I'm scared."

My fist impacted his chin with a loud thunk eliciting a groan from my shocked opponent. He covered his chin and stared at me in shock. "The little bitch hit me!" Laughter rang out from his associates.

"Give me the wallet, stupid." I sighed as his eyes narrowed.

I avoided the first swing, but not the second. Stunning pain followed by complete breathlessness swamped me. One minute I was standing, the next minute I was thrown on top of a nearby table. I landed with a crash, my head striking the wood with such force little pinpricks of light danced before my eyes.

"Cop or not, I'm going to beat you bloody."

A thick, meaty hand closed around my throat and pulled me up. "Give me the wallet," I gasped out from behind his squeezing fingers.

He snorted. "Stubborn little bitch."

Quick as a snake I had the goon's testicles in my hand. The thought was sickening, but I didn't fancy the beating sure to follow if I didn't play a little dirty pool. With a smile, I dug my nails deep as I squeezed and gave a wicked twist.

A bellow not unlike a bull was the result. I found myself on the floor between his knees, balls in hand, as he took a wild swing. I ducked; he broke knuckles while splintering the wood table top. He swung again; I shimmied between his legs and gave his nuts a crushing squeeze.

He let out a scream this time.

Letting him go, I staggered to my feet. I jumped on his back, wrapping my forearm around his neck and my legs around his waist. I grasped the forearm I was using in the chokehold; yanking his head viciously back. "Give me the wallet you dumb ox!"

Gagging sounds erupted from his throat.

My jubilation was short-lived. He was stumbling back toward a nearby wall, his hands clawing at me. He savagely pulled my hair and mauled my scalp with his filthy nails as his face turned a most unbecoming shade of blue.

Cheers and cries for Mario to 'beat the bitch cop' echoed in my ears. Laughter and bets rounded out the cacophony.

Slamming, back first, into a concrete wall drained the breath out of me. My grip was slipping. Muscles throbbing, my spine screaming in agony, I tightened my arm against Mario's throat as he began digging deep, bloody welts into my forearm. If he broke free, I was going to the hospital after he was done.

'_When you take on a bully you come out on your feet. No matter how much pain you are dealt, you put the son-of-a-bitch down.'_ Daddy's voice was echoing in my ears, like warm coffee.

I barely noticed the crowd had gone quiet as I applied more pressure. Mario began sliding down the wall crushing my frame between his huge body and the unyielding surface behind me. Choking filled my ears. The sane, rational part of me knew I should release the man… something more primal wanted me to crush his throat.

"What the hell is going on here?" A familiar, enraged voice demanded from the periphery of the room.

No one spoke. Mario's feeble gurgles were her only reply.

"Don't just stand there while Mario is strangled to death – get in there and break it up."

Figures rushed me with hands outstretched…

* * *

><p>Fish Mooney looked decidedly unhappy. "You sure as hell know how to make a mess." Her smoky eyes flicked toward the unconscious Mario being carried out to a waiting car. She took one look at the man and ordered him brought to the emergency room. "Here," she slid a fat wallet bulging with cash across the table. "Harvey sent you down for this I believe."<p>

I nodded, holding a napkin to my bleeding nose.

Drumming her crimson nails on the table, Fish shot a deadly glare my way. "If you weren't GCPD, I'd have the boys put a bullet in your head for coming in here and disrespecting me."

Sensing she wasn't in a good mood, I decided it wasn't the best time to point out I was the one who had been disrespected by her boy Mario.

There were times in life you just knew when to shut your mouth – this was one of those moments.

She released a sigh and shook her head sending her magenta fringe swaying. "I need a drink. _OSWALD!_"

I started at the name. My whole intention was to avoid future interactions with Mr. Cobblepot… it seemed whatever cosmic power ruled the universe was having a good laugh at my expense.

Before I could sink in my chair or crawl away, Oswald Cobblepot appeared.

He was as neatly dressed as always, but harried looking. "My apologies for running late, but I missed the bus…" His cerulean eyes met my figure over Fish Mooney's shoulder and he gaped in shock. "Detective Maguire? Are you all right?"

I held up my thumb in the universal, _I'm good_, sign.

"You know the young lady?" Fish asked with an intrigued expression.

Oswald finally recovered and gave a quick nod. "Yes, this is the detective I told you about."

"Ah yes," Fish practically purred. "So you are the cop who took such _good_ care of my boy after his unfortunate mishap. How sweet of you, Detective Maguire. Oswald here is a favorite of mine and what was done to him was terrible."

I raised my brow at the motherly tone in the mobster's voice. "Yes it was."

Fish smirked. "Get me a rum and coke, Oswald. Care for a drink, Detective?"

"I'm on duty."

Oswald seemed stuck in place as he stared at me. His gaze was filled with more than concern. He seemed… angry. Whether he was irritated at seeing me in his place of business or just pissy in general I wasn't sure. "Of course Miss Mooney, I'll be right back."

I tore my eyes from his back only to be confronted with Fish Mooney's gloating grin.

She cast a surreptitious glance over her shoulder at Oswald working at the bar before tossing a smug expression my way. "The dear boy is absolutely smitten with you. He hasn't stopped talking about what a good, kind person you are since he returned to work." Fish chuckled. "I have to admit to being surprised. I thought Oswald preferred boys to be honest."

"Not my business," I muttered.

Fish wagged her finger at me. "Now, now Detective, I can't believe a red-blooded young lady like you doesn't find Oswald attractive. He has a certain appeal, though he is a tad strange." She leaned toward me, her voice low and intimate. "Word around here is that Oswald is pure as the driven snow – in a physical sense. Can you imagine being lucky enough to unleash all that passion under his prim exterior? I bet he will be a fantastic lay with the right training. Oswald is so eager to please."

I hated the woman across from me with zeal – she was cruel, narcissistic, and outright vile.

All my energy was poured into maintaining my calm. "With all due respect, I could care less."

Fish winced. "Ouch. Poor Oswald, I wonder if he knows you aren't interested."

I stood and dropped the bloody napkin on the table. "Thank you for your help." I waived the wallet before shoving it in my pocket. "Sorry about the mess."

She never stopped smiling, but her eyes were cold as death.

I just made it to my car when I heard the club door open. "Detective Maguire!" I turned in time to find Oswald not five feet behind me. He wore an expression of deep concern. "Are you all right?"

At that moment, I couldn't have wrested a smile from my sore mouth if my life depended on it. "I'm fine, Oswald."

His gaze flickered to my mouth and nose before returning to my eyes. He was quiet as he closed the distance between us. "Who did this to you?"

I tilted my head and examined him closely. Oswald was stock straight, the line of his shoulders perfect. A muscle clenched in his jaw briefly and his nostrils flared lightly with every breath he took. More telling were his enlarged pupils and the vein throbbing in his temple.

Oswald Cobblepot wasn't just angry – he was enraged.

"It doesn't matter," I insisted. "I don't want you to get yourself in trouble so please calm down."

Dull red dusted the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the tips of his ears making him seem only paler. He stiffened and ducked his head. "No one should ever hit a lady." Oswald glanced at me briefly. "And no one should hit you, Emily."

Maybe I was going as nutty as the rest of the city, but his concern touched me. Sure, I had my brother and my mom who both loved me. Oswald's worrying was different, I couldn't explain it. He cared about what happened to me. He made me feel feminine for the first time in years. I hadn't been with a man since college and clearly the dry spell was starting to affect my judgment.

Attraction to him was simmering inside of me and acting on the feeling would prove the worst idea for both of us.

I was in law enforcement and he was on the other side of the coin. The last thing either of us needed in our lives was a romantic faux pas that could get one, or both, of us hurt. Someone had to be responsible. It sucked to be me.

"Oswald," my voice was as gentle as possible. "I'm touched by your concern." He smiled shyly. "You are one of the sweetest, most polite men I have ever met, but I can't become involved with you."

He blushed and turned his head away. "I-I understand," came his stuttering reply.

"I wish circumstances were different because I really do like you, but we are leading two radically different lives."

Oswald turned toward me; his gaze filled with equal parts warmth and shrewdness. "You honestly like me?"

I nodded. "Yes, I do. I think you are smart, kind, and handsome. Maybe we'll meet in another lifetime."

"I prefer the here and now."

"Our professions make any kind of relationship impossible. I'm a cop and that isn't going to change any time soon. Somehow, I don't think you are willing to give up your occupation either."

He smiled and there was amusement swimming in the depths of his sea-colored eyes. "The beauty of life is that change is the only real constant, Emily."

I nodded and climbed into the car. He was still on the curb staring after me as I pulled away.

* * *

><p>The department was deserted aside from Harvey. Captain Essen had taken the rest of the day off. All other detectives were out on calls. Cranston was probably off twisting shopkeepers arms for his weekly protection stipend.<p>

Bullock smiled at me until I was close enough for the light to fully illuminate my face. His grin evaporated. "What the hell happened to you?"

Pulling his wallet out of my pocket, I dropped it on his desk where it landed with a thud. I pointed at the billfold puking hundred dollar bills.

He rubbed his face with both hands. "Oh shit." Bullock stood and studied my face. "Are you okay?"

"I've had better days," I swiftly retorted. "Please tell me the money wasn't a payment from Fish Mooney."

Harvey Bullock was as still as a statue; his face turning pale. "No, it isn't."

I gave him a curt nod. "Good enough. From here on out you take care of your own filing and no more requests to run errands. I'm here to investigate cases just like you are."

He made no reply, but instead picked up the wallet and shoved it in his overcoat.

I was just about to sit when Harvey called out to me. "I'm sorry if that makes any difference."

I met his gaze and nodded. _Apology accepted._

* * *

><p>Turns out, Oswald was right about change.<p>

Two weeks after my sojourn at Fish Mooney's club, the goon who picked a fight with me ended up dead on Fisherman's Pier. Mario had been slit from throat to groan and stuffed with perch. Bullock caught the case and seeing as how Mario and I tangled not long before, I was briefly investigated. Bullock and Captain Essen didn't believe I had anything to do with Mario's death, but Internal Affairs was still called in to handle investigating my alibi.

Luckily, I was interviewing a witness on a case I caught around the time of Mario's murder.

Still, being investigated by IA, despite being cleared as a suspect, not to mention fighting with a thug in Fish Mooney's nightclub didn't sit right with the mayor or the commissioner. Aubrey James was running for reelection on a platform of cleaning up corruption. I was to be made an example.

I was called into Captain Essen's office. My badge and gun confiscated and I was put on unpaid leave for six weeks. I emerged from her office bumped from the homicide division to vice. I may have been demoted, but I was lucky to keep my job.

Change was inevitable I later learned… oh how I hated every moment.


	5. Chapter 5

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><p>"Hey Penguin, get your scrawny ass over here!" Mario Leonardi barked in a hoarse voice.<p>

He was still suffering the aftereffects of nearly being strangled to death by Detective Maguire a few weeks earlier. Oh how I regretted the fact I was late while Emily was teaching Mario some manners. Of course, I heard the particulars regarding the brawl from Gilzean. Part of me was horrified that Emily was capable of such brutality. Yet deep down there was piece of my soul excited by her raw strength. I found the paradox of Emily Maguire and her behavior intriguing… arousing even, if I were to be honest.

Mario grimaced at me and I came back to the present.

I fought to keep my face expressionless. Out of all Fish Mooney's uncouth minions, Mario was the most vulgar with a streak of cruelty only surpassed by Miss Mooney herself. I finished polishing the last glass on the bar before making my way over to him. "Yes sir?"

Mario snorted and looked down his thick, twisted nose at me. "Mooney wants to see you in her office."

I nodded and made to move by him, but he stepped deliberately in my path. "You sure are a strange bird. I think you outta hang out with those sissy boys up on 34th Street." He seized my collar and took a deep whiff before releasing me. "Are you wearing perfume? You're supposed to be a man, not a girl. Best not get sent to the joint or you'll end up a real man's punk bitch."

My face was burning, my hands balled into fists. I deliberately kept my eyes on the floor. Trouble was not what I needed at the moment. Mario Leonardi had only been back to work for a few days and he was as obnoxious as before Emily dealt with him.

I was a patient man – the time would come to deal with Mario.

He grunted and moved away. "Have a nice meeting, punk."

Gathering my wits, I repressed the hate threatening to ooze out of my very pores. I had to be calm in Miss Mooney's office. Fish noticed everything; I couldn't afford to function at any level but the highest.

Rapping my knuckles on the door, I waited quietly.

"Come in," Fish called out.

I entered and shut the door behind me. Miss Mooney was studying a large stack of ledgers. She looked up and gave me a cool smile. "Have a seat, Oswald. I need to talk with you about a matter of some concern."

Once I was seated, she continued. "You did hear that old Mr. Parkinson passed away?"

Tom Parkinson had been the bookkeeper Miss Mooney employed for years. He was an old man when she first met him and he passed after a long battle with cancer. Word was that Fish was deeply upset.

I nodded. "Yes, I had heard."

Fish leaned back in her chair and studied me. "What a tragedy! Tom and I were very good friends. I now find myself without a bookkeeper. I know I made you the host for the club and you have performed your duties admirably, but I am giving Laszlo the hosting job."

"Laszlo?" The man looked like a male model from Gotham Esquire magazine with all the brains of a desiccated mouse.

She chuckled. "Darling, let me be blunt. Laszlo is simply gorgeous and you…" Fish waved a hand at me with a pained smile. "Well, you are intelligent, Oswald. The sad truth is that people respond to looks in the entertainment business."

I wasn't surprised she thought me unattractive. My limited experience with women had proved most shared Fish Mooney's opinion of my looks. The blunt comparison was still painful. I kept my features composed. "I see, Miss Mooney."

"I knew you would, Oswald. However, I have another job for you. A much better job with better pay," Fish Mooney grinned broadly. "I'm making you my bookkeeper. You take care of the books, ordering supplies and liquor. When Butch is off, you'll substitute as the club manager."

"You are?" I shook the cobwebs from my brain. "I mean thank you, Miss Mooney. I appreciate the opportunity."

She nodded and picked up a pen. "Of course you do, darling. Do me a favor on your way out. I need Mario to meet with Chuck Palmer down on Fisherman's Pier at nine this evening. Mr. Palmer will be there promptly and Mario mustn't be late. Please relay the message."

Chuck Palmer was the head of the port authority's association on the pier. All goods coming into Gotham by boat were moved by his men.

"With pleasure," I stated before finding myself excused from Miss Mooney's presence.

A glimmer of excitement pulsed through me. I felt a sudden fancy for taking a walk on the pier tonight.

* * *

><p>It was nearly quarter of ten before Chuck Palmer shook Mario Leonardi's hand and left back down the pier; his hands stuffed deep down in his jacket due to the coldness of the night air. The meeting was to arrange for a smuggled shipment of heroin to be brought in under Miss Mooney's protection. Don Falcone really owned the shipment, but a capo like Mooney was charged with seeing the drugs were protected until they reached the appropriate sales staff.<p>

Mr. Palmer wasn't my concern, no not at all.

A flash of pained brown eyes blazed behind my eyelids. The memory of blood trickling from Emily's nose merged with the bruise forming and swelling at the side of her mouth. Wisps of hair had escaped her French braid giving her a disheveled appearance. She had been brave, pretending the blows she took didn't hurt, but pain had radiated on her face when she walked.

Gilzean recounted the fight has having been started by Emily. Even so, Mario had clearly picked at a raw wound for Emily to lose enough control to oblige him.

My hands balled into fists and I opened my eyes.

Emily Maguire was precious to me… if I allowed a mindless gorilla like Mario to injure her without consequences I wasn't much of a man. She may not know I was the one who wreaked vengeance against the crass ogre who hurt her, but I would be satisfied the cad had been dealt with.

My lips curled up as I picked up the small tackle box at my feet.

The perk in such an undertaking was that I would no longer be forced to listen to Mario's fresh mouth.

The dock was deserted aside from Mario standing in a patch of moonlight and looking out over the dark river. He seemed preoccupied and I felt a thrill pass through my body not unlike static electricity. Sweat broke out over my palms as I neared him.

My feet moved silently as I crept closer. When I was only a few feet behind Mario, I set down the tackle box with care. The night air carried the scent of water and exhaust; the sound of horns honking and sirens screaming in the distance lent an unearthly feel. We could have been miles away from Gotham instead of on the waterfront.

Reaching into my jacket, I pulled free the implement I nicked from the club's kitchen. The silvery light glinted off the blade. My heart was beating madly, my hand curled around the knife's hilt until my knuckles turned white.

Excitement and fear battled for dominance inside me as I pursed my lips and whistled.

Mario turned in place, eyes wide, and his hand reaching for his gun. Upon recognizing me, he relaxed. "What the hell are you doing here, Penguin? The sissy boys are up on 34th Street." He snickered and rested his hands on his hips. "Fish need me?"

I shook my head, my hands clasped behind my back. "No, Miss Mooney didn't mention you this evening. I wanted to talk to you about the police detective you assaulted."

"Why?" Mario snorted dismissively. "Trust me, Cobblepot, that piece of tail ain't nothing but a troublemaking bitch. She's just like her old man."

Knowledge _is_ power. I wanted to learn all I could about Emily. "Her father is a troublemaker?"

"_Was_ a troublemaker is more like," Mario spat out. "Martin Maguire caused some problems for Don Falcone. Word on the street is Maguire was taken out ten years back. I can see his daughter is a chip off the old block. That girl is headed for an early grave."

The term seeing red was always a mystery to me until Mario threatened Emily.

I was still smiling as I drove the butcher knife into Mario's throat. He gagged, staring at me with bulging eyes, as he grasped at the blade. "I never liked you, Mario, but I was willing to tolerate you. Pick on me all you like – threaten my inamorata and you die."

With all my strength, I yanked the blade downward.

There was a minor sticking point when steel met the bone of his sternum. I am nothing if not persistent.

The knife blade glanced over the bone, slicing skin, tendon, and muscle before sinking deep into Mario's gut. I closed my ears to the slopping wet sounds of flesh being flayed open. I soon reached another bone; weary of the exertion, I stumbled back with blade in hand.

Mario Leonardi was gagging and staring at me. His body convulsed and a terrible squelching sounded followed by an even worse stench as Mario's innards slid lose; landing on the concrete with a wet slapping noise I was certain never to forget.

He tumbled onto his back like a felled tree.

Bile rose in my throat and I spat it out. Blood and gore were not my forte, but one must make due when working alone. Vomiting was not an option. I was here to send a message to the police and attempt to cast blame in the direction I wished it to go.

Opening the tackle box, I smiled down at the perch stuffed inside.

_If this doesn't scream Fish Mooney, nothing will._

* * *

><p>I fear I have underestimated the power Miss Mooney has with the Gotham police department.<p>

Not only did her friend, Detective Bullock, manage to lose the perch evidence, much to my annoyance, he seemed able to convince his co-workers and superiors that Fish had nothing to do with Mario's murder.

All that effort down the proverbial drain… ah well, at least I have one less moronic ape to humiliate me at the club.

The worst part was the fact Detective Maguire seemed to be in trouble.

I overheard snippets of conversation between Fish and Bullock. Maguire had been questioned by GCPD Internal Affairs. It was possible she might lose her job.

The night I heard the conversation centering on Emily, I decided I needed to see her. The need was more like an aching compulsion that pushed me into leaving early. I followed her home from GCPD headquarters.

She was dressed as usual – a simple black suit with a sapphire-colored silk camisole and immaculate black leather loafers. With her hair pulled back into a French braid she looked lovely. Worry was evident in how pale her skin had become; large purple shadows were etched beneath each eye.

Emily was silent as the grave all the way home.

Normally she stopped and spoke animatedly to shopkeepers as she picked up her evening meal. This night she went straight to her apartment building. The dejected tilt of her head bothered me. It seemed as though the spirit had been syphoned away from Emily leaving a person I didn't recognize.

My hands itched to touch her. I wanted to hold Emily and just bask in the warmth she radiated.

When Emily was happy she reminded me of a bird that would sit on my window sill when I was a child; singing with such joy it made me ache to hear it. I stole breadcrumbs from the jar my mother stored in our kitchen to keep the bird coming back. The tiny creature wasn't as colorful as many other fowl are; brown with touches of black and white. I was entranced and studied a book of ornithology at school until I found the name of my new friend – a lark. I fed the bird every day after school and listened to her song until one day she disappeared. My devastation at the loss cannot be expressed in words.

I had no friends, aside from a few teachers who considered me a talented student, and my parents were abysmally unhappy. To me that little lark was beyond a lovely songbird, she was my only friend.

I wanted Emily and I wanted her to be happy. She was my lark in human form. I needed her to sing for me and sing she would.


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks so much for reviewing: Ceville, Cranberries, Dragonknight4000, lulu2613, Millicent Cordelia, FOREVERMORE, FucshiaGrasshopper, Aaron, Dreamweaver74, RedWillow, Adreena, and Guests. I really appreciate it!**

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><p>The pounding on the door was driving me nuts. "I'm coming!" I shouted over the low jazz streaming from the stereo. Throwing the door open I growled, "What?!"<p>

Mom held up her hands, filled with shopping bags, a broad smile on her face. "I give up! Don't shoot."

"I don't have a gun. I had to return it to the department until my suspension is over." I smiled at her and stepped aside. "Come on in."

Helen Ellis Maguire was sixty-seven and still had the classic hourglass figure that set men in a tizzy. She kept her champagne-colored hair twisted at the back of her neck in a neat chignon. Dark-eyed and full-lipped with a porcelain complexion, she was a natural beauty. Not frivolous with her funds, she managed to look chic even buying clothes off the rack.

"I brought you an old favorite from Madame Maillot's patisserie." She set a small ivory box sporting a large petal pink bow on my table. "Can you guess what it might be?"

I closed the door and leaned against it. "I have no idea. When I was a kid everything in that shop was my favorite."

Mom gracefully seated herself in a flurry of evergreen chiffon. "Just humor me and guess."

"I'm going to get fat if you keep doing this." Every other day containers of cannoli, red velvet cake, and mouth-watering truffles were delivered. Now that I wasn't working exercise hadn't exactly been a priority. Wallowing in self-pity was more my style at the moment.

A reluctant grin stole across my lips. "Pain-au-chocolat?"

She laughed. "Close… chocolate macaroons. I seem to recall you adored them."

I was in the box and stuffing macaroons in my face within seconds. The sweet, crisp, airy delicacies were better than I remembered. A groan escaped my throat. "You know my every weakness."

Mom waggled her eyebrows at me. "Never underestimate the power a mother holds. Give me one dear before you succeed in eating the entire box." She accepted her macaroon and nibbled it daintily. "So how have you spent your time off?"

Misery washed over me. I jammed another macaroon in my mouth.

Her eyes widened a tad. "Oh my goodness."

I finished the macaroon and went in search of milk. Bringing back two small glasses, I set one in front of her. "I think I may be doomed. Do you realize I'm going to be a pariah when I go back?"

"Negative thinking has always been a downfall of yours. Have you given any thought to taking the bar?"

I finished my milk before answering. "I somehow doubt the majority of decent law firms in this city are going to hire a cop demoted and given written warning for brawling with a mob soldier in Fish Mooney's place. Passing the bar is immaterial – in Gotham reputation is everything."

The gentle tapping of nails against the table drew my attention. Mom looked tired. "What about seeking private employment with Sean Riley?"

I shook my head. "No way in hell. Sean Riley is the head of the Irish mafia."

"Sean was a wonderful friend to your father. He is a good person." She sighed. "I know how disappointing it is losing your position in the homicide department. I'm concerned about your safety if that Mooney woman is as angry as you say. Sean is a businessman and he could find you a job doing legitimate work."

"I can't do it. Dad would be ashamed of me." My mind was made up and if I didn't deal with the likes of Fish Mooney, I certainly wasn't turning up on Boss Riley's doorstep with hat in hand. No matter what anyone said about my father, he was honest and I wasn't about to blemish his memory.

If I went to work for Sean Riley, Martin Maguire would be spinning in his grave.

"Emily," Mom was using her gentle voice, the one she saved for breaking bad news to me. "Your father was a good man and I loved him dearly, but he understood the need to survive. Marty was more accepting of people than you seem to remember. He had a gift for treating everyone with respect, honey, and people loved him for it."

I looked away from her.

She released a long sigh. "Baby, I have some news I came to share."

My heart was in my throat. "Are you okay?" My aunt Eileen, mom's sister, had died from breast cancer three years earlier.

"I'm fine," she demurred. "But I'm moving to Maryland."

I stared at her, my mind mired in confusion. "What?"

"Your brother invited me to come live with him and Laura." My older brother, Andrew, was a firefighter in Baltimore and he loved it there. Laura was a third grade teacher and they had just bought a new house in preparation for a family.

I studied the macaroon in my hand before placing it back in the box. "I had no idea you wanted to move."

Mom shrugged. "I've wanted to leave Gotham for quite a while." She hesitated before laying her hand over mine. "Why don't you come with me? I think you could use a fresh start. Andrew and Laura will be thrilled if you came, you know that."

I wanted to leave Gotham, I did. Every time I considered making a move some strange inner voice asked me if I would truly be happy somewhere else. The answer, as much as I hated it, was no. The city of Gotham was in my blood, imprinted on my soul. Sure I hated the crime and corruption, but the energy of the place was electric.

Even more, I wanted answers about the Westvale Hotel fire that killed my father. Deep down I needed to know how a decorated fire chief with over twenty years of experience fighting fires managed to become trapped in a basement janitorial closet. More importantly, why hadn't his crew gone in to save him? The paperwork from the police and the fire department stated hypoxia and delirium affected Dad, but that didn't explain his people sitting on their hands outside. I wanted answers and if I left Gotham I would never have the opportunity to ask the questions.

"Maybe," I allowed softly. "I'm going to see a department shrink tomorrow per conditions allowing me to go back to work. Let me make you dinner on Friday and we can talk about it again."

She smiled and stood. We embraced before she left.

I ended the evening stuffing my face with macaroons and milk. I believe five pounds settled on my ass before the next morning.

* * *

><p>Spending an hour being grilled about the incident at Mooney's club was bad enough. Being peppered with questions about everything from my childhood to my lack of a social life was humiliating. When the doctor broached the celibacy I embraced, I stopped talking.<p>

Some subjects were too personal to share and my sex life; or lack thereof, was top of the list.

"You assaulted a man over an empty wallet." Dr. Joel Parry remarked as he flipped through my file. As the head psychologist for the GCPD he held enormous power over my future. Parry was a former hostage negotiator on the force before retiring, obtaining his master's degree in psychology, and returning to the GCPD as a shrink for whacked out cops.

I am not crazy.

Parry may have been in his mid-fifties but he had the body of a thirty year old man in peak condition. He was nicely dressed in a deep grey suit that complimented not only his physique but his smooth cocoa skin. A handsome man who carried himself with confidence with sharp dark eyes that intimated he didn't tolerate any bull.

I was praying nonstop as he stopped reading and leaned back in his chair.

Parry poked the file. "The file states Mr. Leonardi cast some aspersions against the character of your deceased father. You nearly strangled the man to death using an illegal chokehold; a maneuver strictly banned by the GCPD. I had your record pulled and it was spotless prior to this blowup at Mooney's nightclub. Can you explain to me what you were feeling when Mr. Leonardi insulted the memory of your father?"

"Mr. Leonardi insinuated my father was an arsonist for Don Falcone in his spare time." His brow rose and I hurried along. "Look, I should have known better than to lose my cool. I made a mistake and my career is hanging by a thread because I had a very foolish momentary lapse in judgment."

"Clearly there are unresolved issues with your father's death. I am going to recommend you attend weekly counseling sessions to lessen the possibility of another incident. You have a great deal of unresolved anger bordering on rage and it needs to be dealt with." He explained.

I cleared my throat. "I don't understand."

Dr. Parry assumed a no bullshit air. "You have the capability of becoming violent to the point of causing great bodily injury. The anger you carry appears to be triggered by repressed emotional distress suffered when your father died. I cannot allow you to return to work unless you are receiving counseling sessions weekly. Detective Maguire, comply and take the counseling or you resign from the GCPD."

"I understand," I managed. "I'll take the counseling."

Humiliation didn't begin to cover what I was feeling. I crammed down the embarrassment and thanked Parry for his time as he dismissed me.

* * *

><p>Three hours later I was running in the park. Driving my body further beyond where pain normally slowed me down. My legs and chest burned like fire as I pushed forward with every jagged breath; sweaty clothes sticking to my skin, hair plastered to my forehead and cheeks.<p>

I needed to forget my world was crumbling. Running was a way to channel the rage I was feeling at my own actions, at Mario the blockhead, and for Fish Mooney even existing. My breath made little foggy clouds in the cold.

The moment I felt like I couldn't take one more step, I slowed until I was walking.

Pushing back the wet tendrils that had escaped my braid, I breathed deeply. The fragrance of fall leaves, the hint of rain, and the dampness of the grass perfumed the air around me. I headed for a nearby bench and sat.

My brain was locked on the problem of my employment. I needed a job – the bills were not going to pay themselves. No counseling equaled no job. On the other hand, did I really want someone picking through my most intimate thoughts?

"Emily?" The chillingly familiar voice startled me back into reality.

Oswald Cobblepot was standing not two feet in front of me. He was as dapper as ever and sporting a fashionable overcoat that complimented his frame quite nicely. His pale face carried a hint of hesitation as though he feared being struck if he approached further.

There were a dozen parks in Gotham. What was the chance he just ended up taking a walk in my neighborhood? I smelled a rat.

"What are you doing here Oswald?" My voice was clipped, my expression stern.

He laughed; a high, thin sound smacking of anxiety. "I was transacting business nearby and…"

I stood and took a step forward until we were inches apart. His breath was hot against my mouth and smelled of chamomile tea. "Try again and cut the bull."

The shyness bloomed in him and Oswald looked away from me toward the street. "I wanted to see you and I truly was nearby. I thought we could talk."

"Oswald," my jaw was clenched, forcing words through my teeth. "How did you find out I lived in this neighborhood? I never told you before you sent those flowers."

His eyes returned to mine. "I asked the right people."

I laughed as I wiped a hand over my face. "Are you stalking me? I told you we wouldn't be seeing each other again."

The fleeting strength Oswald displayed now and again in my presence reared up. His eyes were still warm, but his face was sketched with a determination frightening to behold. "You said we couldn't be friends because of your job but you are suspended from the GCPD." I stiffened and he reacted by holding his hands up. "Please don't be angry with me. I just want to talk."

"Oswald…" He smelled so good: chamomile tea and rosemary with the barest hint of bergamot. I wanted to bury my face in his neck and just lose myself in him. Kicking my hormones aside, I tried to remain logical. "You need to go and you have to stop pursuing me. I like you but this is getting out of hand."

He dipped his head and his hands dropped to my shoulders. "I would _never _hurt you, skylark."

I couldn't deny I liked his hands on me. My brain was only half-working as I stared into his eyes. "What did you call me?" I had always been attracted to jocks. I couldn't understand why this man appealed to me – he was vastly different from anyone I had ever known.

Oswald smiled. "Skylark. You just remind me of a beautiful little bird… a lark." My confusion must have showed because he rushed ahead; nerves coming back full force. "Have you ever heard a lark song? It is just the most magical sound – so full of joy."

I was stunned; torn between believing he was smitten with me as Fish said or he was completely nuts. "I'm not beautiful," I mumbled.

He drew back from me; his expression deathly serious. "I think you are."

My heart was pounding, the blood coursing to a very intimate part of my physique. I could feel my cheeks growing warm under his gaze. Grasping at straws, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. Low blow or not, I needed time to cool my heels before I made a very big mistake. "Fish Mooney told me you prefer men."

"What?" Oswald looked stunned; his ears growing redder by the moment.

I stepped back from him. "She warned me when I was down at the club."

He gave a strange, half-gurgle half-laugh. "I can assure you she is incorrect."

"I'm sorry, I had no right to say that to you," I replied kindly. I felt like a witch, he had done nothing to deserve what I said to him. "I'm such an ass…"

His hand cupped my cheek; his thumb gently rubbing the swell of my bottom lip. He was guiding me closer until our bodies were only a hairs breadth from touching. Oswald's eyes had darkened to the color of a storm-tossed sea. His lips opened as his head dipped toward me.

At the last moment I turned my face.

Oswald's mouth was lingering above my cheek; his hot breath scalding my skin. A strangled sound escaped his throat; panting as though he just completed a marathon.

Every cell in my body was alive – singing in a way it never had before. I was breathless and flush with desire. Just the feel of his hand and breath stoked a fire in my blood. I wanted nothing more than to bring Oswald home and take advantage of him shamefully.

I found my voice; quaky and barely discernible. "Stop, please Oswald."

He drew back reluctantly; his cheeks burnished and his pupils large and dark. "I want to spend time with you."

"You want to sleep with me," I replied.

A half-smile tugged at his lips. "What a crude analogy to describe my feelings, Emily. Clearly the men you have dealt with in the past were common and lascivious. A true gentleman would never attempt seduction so early in a relationship – to do so would be despicable. Forgive my loss of control; I find you very attractive."

I edged past him and started to walk. Footsteps echoed behind me and soon Oswald was at my side.

"Where are you going?"

"Home," I stated softly. "I need a shower. I'm surprised you could tolerate the stench."

"I think you smell very pleasant… like lavender." He seemed anxious. "Can I come with you? Not to shower obviously. I just want to talk."

I glanced at him. "At least I know my deodorant is still working. Don't you have work tonight?"

"No, this evening I'm free."

My hormones were begging me to invite him back to the apartment. I stopped short in front of my building. "Not tonight, Oswald." The look of disappointment on his face bothered me far more than it should have. "Do you like pizza?"

He nodded. "Yes, I do."

"How about we have pizza tomorrow morning?" I wrapped my hands around my waist. "Say around eleven-thirty. You bring the pie and I'll have dessert and drinks on hand."

Oswald agreed with a quick nod. "That sounds wonderful."

"One last thing," I stepped up close to him and took hold of his tie. Our eyes made contact and held. "I don't want you following me."

He tried to open his mouth and I shook my head. "No more, Oswald. I like you, but I won't tolerate any weirdness. Friends don't treat friends like an object."

"Are we friends?" Oswald asked softly.

He looked so much like a lost young boy, I hugged him in response. He was stiff at first before his arms slowly unfurled like the petals of a flower. He embraced me about the shoulders with such delicacy it was as though he feared I would shatter like glass.

"Yes," I answered. "We are friends."

I wasn't sure friends found one another attractive but the analogy fit for now. We had a strange, tenuous connection and strong mutual enjoyment of one another's company. I had my reservations, sure, but there was something about him that slithered past my defenses. I felt wanted when I was with Oswald Cobblepot, like he could see straight through me and he held no judgment. I found his impeccable manners and timidity refreshing and I was intrigued at those bursts of strength he displayed. The fact my body reacted whenever he was nearby would be put aside for another time.

I untangled myself from him. "Good night Oswald."

He smiled and began walking backward. "Pleasant dreams, Emily." He narrowly missed a pedestrian before turning sharply and heading into the twilight.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Sean Riley and his daughter Peyton are not my creations but belong to DC Comics. I will always announce at the end of each chapter any characters from the comics I use in the course of the story.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Thank you for reviewing: lulu2613, Dreamweaver74, Adreena, CeliaSingsSongs, Cranberries, Lola93091, SparklingMist, Franny C, Dragonknight4000, FallinApart, FOREVERMORE, Aaron, NeonZangetsu, and Guests. I appreciate it so much.**

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><p>Don Falcone's casino, <em>Mi Libretto<em>, had a certain high stakes gambler named Carlton Jeffries whom had been discovered counting cards at the Blackjack table. In situations where the stakes are six figures and up it has always been the Don's policy to deal with such cheats in a very hushed manner. Normally, the police would be called and detectives from vice would be dispatched.

However, Mr. Jeffries luck had run out and instead Miss Mooney had been called. She in turn sent out Butch, Hank, and I to deal with the unpleasant consequences of what occurred in the bowels of the casino's service tunnels.

The remains of Mr. Jeffries beaten corpse lay in a pool of blood; glittering like crimson diamonds in the fluorescent lighting.

Eduardo Panetti, head of security for _Mi Libretto_, stood close to Butch as they glared at the dead man. "Mr. Jeffries needs to disappear."

Butch nodded. "I gathered. Don't worry; we'll take good care of the freaking cheat."

A tall, skinny man with a pock-marked face dressed in grey overalls appeared pushing a large rolling bucket with mops attached. "Hey Mr. Panetti, I'm ready any time you are."

Eduardo nodded to him before glancing in Butch's direction. "This is Walter, he is our janitor."

Butch frowned. "Does Walter know how to keep his mouth shut?"

"I know my place," Walter groused before falling silent. He had a spiteful gleam in his eye that I found intriguing.

With a handshake, Eduardo Panetti left us to our clandestine work. Immediately, Hank and I rolled out commercial grade, large plastic bags. Butch held the bag open and Hank helped me shove Mr. Jeffries corpse inside. Like a well-choreographed ballet, in no time the body was completely packaged for transport leaving a large bloody pool left to deal with.

Walter looked bored as he leaned against the wall waiting for his cue.

Butch hefted up one end of the body and Hank the other. "Cobblepot, you stay here and make sure no evidence gets left behind."

I nodded. "I will."

The moment Butch and Hank disappeared around the bend in the tunnel, Walter snorted. "Is that jerk your boss?"

"Sadly," I answered. "Can I help?"

Walter peered at me. "You serious?"

I shrugged. "Cleaning would be preferable to standing around watching you work."

Walter handed me and extra mop and dumped a good bit of soapy water on the gory puddle. "You must be the first guy working for Falcone I ever met who isn't lazy." He grabbed his mop and started swabbing. "All I ever hear around this place – is Walter do this, Walter clean up my coffee spill, Walter I accidently stabbed my girl, can you get the blood outta my carpet?"

I could feel my eyes widening as I followed Walter's lead in scrubbing. I often found by listening, one not only learned more, but made steadfast allies. I decided to listen to every word Walter had to say. Who knew if his assistance might be necessary in the future.

* * *

><p>Emily spent the majority of her suspension hold up in her apartment. When she was out and about the same few places were visited: the gym, the park, and Hummingbird Books. Of course there were her weekly sojourns to the grocery store. I had become more careful in watching her. She seemed to sense the presence of another.<p>

First she ran while listening to music and then the earphones disappeared. Emily would occasionally cast looks behind her as though she expected someone to be standing there. The last thing I wanted was my little songbird catching me in the act. I was certain she may not prove forgiving.

The gym she favored was on the ground floor of a large skyscraper; intersecting floor to ceiling glass on the building's corner gave me the perfect viewing station. I simply pretended to read the newspaper while I watched Emily beat a boxing bag silly.

She had her hair plaited in a long braid down her back; her lithe body was swathed in spandex which hugged each curve perfectly. Her knuckles were wrapped in white tape for protection as she pounded the bag with hard, merciless hits. The muscles in her arms flexed and released with each punch.

I swallowed the sudden dryness in my throat.

My attraction to women had always been for the soft, oh-woe-is-me damsel looking for a sugar daddy. A woman with dramatic curves and incredible elegance won me over… say a woman who resembled Ava Gardner.

Emily had the elegance down pat, but she was physically different from women who had caught my eye in the past. We were the same height with straight-lined bodies; only Emily was in better shape physically. Her musculature was etched like fine marble under a master artisan's hand. The lines of her chest and hips were gently rounded, just enough to give her a figure.

Still, her ability to defend herself was a turn on. Raw, unbridled strength and passion she exhibited just begged to be honed and directed as I saw fit. She was everything I had been looking for.

I daydreamed in my off time about the taste of her mouth… the feel of her skin against mine. I fantasized pulling her hair loose and spreading it over her naked shoulders. The more I dreamed, the more demanding my appetite for her became.

No amount of watching Emily Maguire satiated me.

I was ashamed at how often I returned to my own pathetic flat burning with want; forced to deal with the unwanted physical side effects with my own hand. I fell asleep coated in a thin layer of sweat from my exertions and still unfulfilled.

* * *

><p>Jealousy was another emotion I was growing to understand.<p>

Three weeks into her suspension, Emily had drinks with none other than Detective Harvey Bullock. I wondered if Emily knew her co-worker enjoyed the occasional roll between the sheets with Fish Mooney. The thought nearly gagged me, but to each their own. Aside from his very poor taste in women, Bullock had managed to get Emily in trouble.

After all, it was his request for help and his wallet that sent Emily down to the club.

I was surprised at how happy she seemed to be to see the ridiculous boob.

Bullock was waiting for her outside the _Cock and Bull_ tavern around the corner from Emily's building. He pulled her into a hug and she patted his back like an old friend. The genuine smile he had for her and the crinkling at the corner of his eyes lent warmth to his face.

Emily was laughing at something he said before they ducked inside.

My lips twisted angrily. The thought of her alone with that… weasel was beyond endurance.

The pair was seated in a booth; all the booths had high seat backs lending separation similar to partitions. I slipped into the booth behind her and ordered a Bloody Mary quietly. Keeping my head down when people passed by, I hoped to escape notice.

Harvey Bullock's voice was filled with good humor as he addressed her. "So Maguire, what are you drinking tonight? Remember, the tab is on me."

"Oh my good god, I will alert the media to your generosity." The jab was delivered with a laugh.

I smiled in turn.

"Har-har-har," Bullock replied mockingly. "Wise ass. Seriously, what are you drinking?"

"I don't know," Emily muttered. "I guess I will have a good old German lager."

Bullock snorted. "You and damned German beer, it is almost unpatriotic the amount of that swill you guzzle. I suggest drinking American and suffer like everyone else."

"Uh-huh. What are you having?" Emily asked sweetly.

He cleared his throat. "Heineken."

She laughed. My heart constricted. I wanted to be the one drawing forth her laughter, not this idiotic ox. "I smell a hypocrite."

"Whatever," Bullock ordered their beers before continuing. "You know I can't thank you enough for keeping me off Internal Affairs radar. You didn't have to tell them the wallet was empty."

Shock roiled in my gut. She _lied_ for this oaf? It wasn't the untruth so much as the idea she was protecting this man that irritated me. Harvey Bullock was completely undeserving of her trust, never mind her loyalty.

Emily was quiet as the waitress brought their order. Finally, she spoke once more. "Look, I know I've seemed like a hard ass to you on many an occasion, but I don't throw people under the bus. You've helped me more than once and I have a good memory."

"I thought I pissed you off," Bullock mumbled.

"You do," she replied honestly. "I'm no saint either. Squealing your business to IA is just being a major a-hole."

He chuckled. "I sure will miss your most excellent filing capabilities."

Emily sounded like she was choking on her beer. "I bet. At least in vice I won't have to see Cranston's ugly mug every day."

"No kidding," he stated with disgust. "I can't stand that…"

She cleared her throat. "So how is Melanie?"

"Melody," Bullock corrected glumly. "She dumped me two weeks ago."

"Wasn't she the girl you met wearing pasties and a thong during the Mardi Gras parade?"

I was starting to imagine nightmarish scenarios best left alone.

Bullock sighed. "No, that was Velvet. I met Melody at that new blues joint over on 2nd Avenue. Nice girl. What about you? Are you seeing anyone?"

My ears strained to hear the answer to Bullock's question. Just because I hadn't seen Emily with anyone didn't mean she wasn't dating. If she was seeing someone, I needed to find out who he was and eliminate him.

Emily let out a short, uncomfortable laugh. "I don't date, Harvey. You know that."

"So you keep saying. One day, kiddo, you are going to meet the right man and that will be all she wrote."

Emily simply laughed.

Sitting through two hours of conversation about police work was somewhat illuminating – especially the gossip about this officer or that. I had no idea the GCPD was worse than an old women's bingo club when it came to rumor and innuendo.

The Bloody Mary had been followed by a beer and sandwich as I stayed and listened to the conversation between Emily and Bullock.

My mind was at ease. Emily's relationship with the man was purely professional, though there was a clear friendship involved. She left first and I ducked my head as she passed by me.

I was just starting to relax when a shadow fell over me.

"Don't you work for Fish Mooney?"

Looking up, I found Harvey Bullock staring at me with a frown. I managed to nod. "Yes."

He cocked his brow and studied me closely. "Isn't this neighborhood a little outside Fish's territory?"

"I was just passing through," I managed. "I have friends nearby."

Bullock seemed suspicious as he put his hat on. "Let me give you a friendly piece of advice. If you are following me, I suggest it stops here and now. Old Falcone may be paranoid about loyalty but I don't take being tailed. I'm not above sending you back to the old man in a box. Get it?"

My head bobbed in acknowledgment.

He seemed placated. "Good man. I would hate to put a bullet in you. Might give me indigestion."

I blinked and remained very still; as if faced with a cobra.

Bullock smirked and continued on his way.

Sinking in my seat, I wiped my hand over my mouth and willed my heart to calm.

* * *

><p>Approaching Emily in the park a few days later had been a poor choice on my part. She seemed so defensive, like she expected me to hurt her. My experience with females was decidedly nonexistent, but I had the sense she was trying to keep a wall between us out of fear. Her physical reactions to me all seemed positive cues insinuating she found me attractive as well.<p>

The remembrance of her scent held the power to intoxicate me. Slight hints of lavender mixed with salt from her perspiration and faintly sweet musky notes had driven me mad as we stood close; my nose breathing in the exotic bouquet.

She asked me to come back to her tomorrow, invited me to her home. She told me we were friends and willingly embraced me… is that not proof she has feelings for me?

I fumed at the thought of that vile Fish Mooney trying to spoil everything. My lips twisted into a frown.

Miss Mooney was a low brow creature – all viciousness and crudity. I had never understood classification of people based on sexual identification. Cruelty and innuendo gave bullies like Miss Mooney and her ilk power over those without the means to fight back.

Fish Mooney had tried to insinuate to Emily I was uninterested; luckily my inamorata was more open minded than most.

Whispers had started; vague nebulous tales floating through the ether, that war was coming soon. Carmine Falcone was old and weak, Miss Mooney had said so herself. If Mooney could sense blood in the water, soon enough the other crime families would as well. I had to be ready to act.

Unless I wanted to spend my life as a mere toady, picked at and reviled, I had to plan my own move.

Risk was needed, but the reward would be great.

I, Oswald Cobblepot, would come into my own; respected and with enough power to rebuff any attempt to hurt me.

If I sat by and did nothing, I would be fifty years old rubbing Fish Mooney's wretched feet and listening to her complain until I went completely mad.

No, no. I was going places and I was going to take my Lark with me.


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks for reviewing: CeliaSingsSongs, Franny C, Millicent Cordelia, Dreamweaver74, Lola93091, FuchsiaGrasshopper, Cranberries, Mentallyconfusedidiot, SparklingMist, Dragonknight4000, Lady Ravenna, Aaron, Jotunheim Storm, Adreena, Sexyknickers, and Guests. I really appreciate it.**

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><p>Freshly scrubbed and dressed casually in jeans and a Henley, I just finished pinning up my hair when my doorbell rang. I crossed to the entry and checked the peephole. Sure enough Oswald was standing on my threshold with pizza box in hand. He wore his nervousness like a bright pink rain slicker. I wondered if he had ever been in a woman's flat before.<p>

Opening the door, I smiled and invited him in. "The pizza smells divine."

He eased past me in three jerky steps. "I decided on simplicity and choose a margherita." Just tomato sauce, basil, and fresh mozzarella and the combination was classic.

My mouth was watering as I closed the door. "Marvelous," I enthused as I locked up behind him. "Is beer okay? I can make coffee if you prefer, I know it is a little early."

Oswald didn't answer so I turned to find him staring pointedly at my bed; his cheeks burning. His embarrassment was a huge clue toward his level of experience with the opposite sex. He noticed my observance and flashed me a tight smile before heading to the table. "Beer is more than fine. Thank you."

He set the pizza box on the table and pulled out a chair to sit.

I crossed to the refrigerator and pulled out two lagers. "Are you going to take off your coat? You can lay it on my bed." The jab was uncalled for, but I wanted to see what he would do.

Oswald was staring at the table. "I'm fine."

Continuing to push him would be low. I changed the topic. "Would you like some music?"

Enthusiasm returned to his features and he nodded eagerly as I set his beer on the table. "I would enjoy listening to music very much."

The stereo system was just beside the bed. I fiddled with the dial. "Do you prefer classical or jazz?"

"Jazz," he replied before taking a long pull from his beer. Oswald's gaze took inventory and caressed each feature of my apartment from the high ceiling to the oak floors and everything in between. "You have a nice apartment but I must admit it was nothing like I expected."

"No?" I questioned as I sat across from him.

Oswald shook his head. "No this is too modern, too minimalist for someone who enjoys a shop like Hummingbird Books and carries a purse with a floral motif." He gestured toward the kitchen counter where a clear bowl filled with dried roses was on display. "You have a warm, sentimental streak and this place is far too cold for someone like you."

"Maybe I just like flowers," I shrugged and sipped my beer. "That hardly qualifies me as sentimental."

"Are you challenging me?" Oswald asked with a mischievous smile.

"I am," I grinned. "Prove your theory."

He stood and gestured around the large room. "May I?"

"Be my guest."

Oswald crossed to the bowl of dried white roses perched on the kitchen cabinet. "Exhibit A of your sentimentality is on display right here. You enjoyed the flowers I sent so much it was impossible to just throw them away so you dried the buds in order to keep them." He padded to the far wall where a black and white photograph was carefully suspended. "The only personal picture in the apartment on display is the photo of a young girl and an older man – you and your father, I wager. The high quality of the matting and the frame combined with the care in hanging the picture indicate emotional attachment."

I swallowed more beer as he turned toward my nightstand.

His long fingers twitched before he plucked a small piece of glass from the wood surface. Oswald studied the item closely. "A rabbit spun from hand-blown glass. Not an expensive piece and also not purely decorative. No, this is something one might give a child so I suspect it was a gift from your mother perhaps. In a space barren of expression it is always the little touches that give everything away." He watched my face carefully as he set down the tiny rabbit and gestured toward the bed. "We have here a handmade quilt and matching shams with a knitted afghan neatly draped at the foot of the mattress. Again, gifts from someone close and the fact you keep them displayed indicates great attachment to the gift giver."

I chewed on my bottom lip and Oswald shifted from confident to unsure once again.

He rounded the bed and returned to his chair. "I'm sorry if I upset you, Emily. Please accept my assurance it was not my intent to offend."

I had to be careful around this man. He was adroit at keeping me off kilter. I found his ability to read me frightening. Most people accepted the front I presented to the world: proficient professionally, slightly sarcastic, and objective. Oswald could see beyond the façade and I was scared.

Closeness and vulnerability led to pain. I was keen to avoid all three.

I managed a smile. "Let's eat our pizza." I went to gather plates and felt his eyes on my back the entire time.

He seemed subdued as I placed a plate in front of him and returned to my seat. "Why do you always wear your hair up?"

I barely kept my hand from creeping up to my head. I stared at him. "You don't like my hair?"

What the hell was wrong with me? I didn't care about what random people thought about my looks.

Oswald flushed a deep red. "N-no, you have lovely hair and you keep it in a very sophisticated French pleat." Clearing his throat, he set his arm against the table and leaned forward. His face was a study in earnestness. "I am merely curious why you never wear it down."

"I think it looks better this way."

He looked as though he were about to disagree and thought better of the idea. Instead he opened the pizza box and helped himself to a slice. "Are you going back to work?"

I nodded and took a slice of pizza. "Yes, my suspension is over next week."

Oswald ate in silence for a few moments. His eyes were filled with concern when he finally looked at me. "Emily, I feel as though you are making a mistake. I'm worried for your safety."

The sad, timid Oswald was back and I felt sorry for him. Setting down my slice, I wiped my fingers on a napkin before setting my hand on his. "Please don't worry about me. I'm a big girl and I've been taking care of myself for years."

He tried to smile and failed. His expression was deeply troubled as he held my gaze. "A war is coming and I don't want you involved in it. This is bigger than people like us; the power in Gotham is going to shift. The streets will no longer be safe for the police."

I nodded. "All the more reason to eat and make merry while we can."

Oswald's pale skin took on a greyish tone; his attention returned to his plate.

We finished dining in peace and I fetched dessert.

With a flourish I set down a platter in front of him. "Tada! I hope you like chocolate."

His eyes grew wide. "Chocolate is a personal favorite of mine. You made all this?" He pointed at the platter with neatly stacked fudge brownies.

"I did indeed," I sat and grinned. "From scratch no less. I was bored this morning."

"You are quite the domestic," Oswald murmured. "I had no idea."

"I like to bake when I have a chance. You have to promise to take some brownies home with you. I cannot be trusted with this monstrosity."

He smiled. "Are you afraid of eating all this?"

"Not afraid," I corrected with a grin. "I _know_ I'll eat all this and then I'll be forced to run a 10K in compensation for my gluttony."

"Then I accept your offer with gratitude." Oswald fell silent.

I could feel his anxiety permeating my flat like morning mist. "How do you know a war is coming?"

He cast a nervous look in my direction. "In my position I hear a great deal. Please take my word when I tell you Gotham will be awash in blood."

My stomach curdled. "A turf war in this city is a nightmare to even contemplate. Who are the main players?"

Oswald shook his head. "Emily, you must know I cannot impart names."

"Maybe I could help if you gave me more information," I felt at a loss. "I am in the GCPD."

Anger flashed across his face like lightening. "I didn't come here as an informant, I came here as your friend." Oswald's expression softened. "You have to be very careful. The time has passed when being a police officer lent protection from the underworld. Promise me you will take extra precautions to protect yourself when you go back to work."

My throat was dry and my mouth sticky with fear. "I promise."

He stood. "I should leave. I have an earlier shift today."

Without comment I retrieved the plastic wrap and rolled up the entire platter of brownies. I walked Oswald to the door and handed him the platter. Since he clearly no longer wanted to discuss his warning, I played it cool. "Thanks for coming by. I don't normally have visitors."

Oswald's gaze was somber as he studied me. "Do you enjoy the ballet? I have a pair of tickets for Swan Lake this weekend." He swallowed; his Adam's apple bobbing. "I understand if you have prior plans."

The courage it had taken for him to ask me out was admirable. He was clearly shy and tentative in the romantic arena. Going out on a date with Oswald Cobblepot was a bad idea… even more terrible than forming a friendship with him. I should decline immediately and save us both a great deal of grief.

"I would love to go with you to the ballet." I was horrified by the words tumbling out of my mouth; it was like I was possessed.

My dismay must not have shown on my face since he was beaming. "Excellent, Emily, I look forward to our assignation. The Gotham Metropolitan Ballet has a dress code so semi-formal wear is required. Have a pleasant day."

I smiled and wished him a good day.

The moment the door was closed, I fell against it and groaned. "I do need counseling because I've lost my mind. Police officers uphold the law – they do not date members of the mafia. I'm going to lose my job."

Try as I might I couldn't banish the tiny, but growing, part of me that liked Oswald Cobblepot much more than was rational. I used my flirtation with insanity as leverage to keep my counseling appointments.

* * *

><p>Coming home from the gym and breathless from beating a punching bag silly, I was surprised to find a familiar figure leaning against the brick façade of my building. I was drenched and sweat and smelled ripe. The last thing I needed was a visitor.<p>

Gasping for breath, I walked slowly toward the man.

He was watching me with a smirk playing on his lips. "'Evening Emily."

I wiped my face with the back of my sleeve. "Harvey," I nodded in greeting. "To what do I owe the honor?"

Detective Harvey Bullock was tall with a strong body starting to thicken with middle age. Scruffy and just a hint of sloppiness lent him an edgy demeanor. He chuckled and pushed to his feet, pulling off his hat. "I wanted to thank you again for keeping what happened at Fish's place as confidential as possible. You saved me a whole lot of headaches."

I crossed my arms over my chest. "No problem. I can hardly blame you for my temporary insanity."

Harvey snorted. "Mario Leonardi was a stupid jackass – his death pretty much proves it. He annoyed people and made enemies everywhere he went. Somebody finally gave him the comeuppance he had been begging for. No great loss."

Detective Bullock wasn't known for his sympathy toward mafia or gang members who turned up dead.

"Did you ever find the perp who killed the guy?"

He leveled an amused look in my direction. "Insufficient leads and evidence tend to hamper investigations."

I raised one eyebrow. "Especially when Fish Mooney asks you to leave well enough alone."

Harvey seemed amused by my assertion; his eyes gleamed with laughter. "Fish and I go way back. She was impressed with the way you handled Mario."

"She threatened to have a bullet put in my head for disrespecting her place of business," I countered.

A deep chuckle escaped Harvey's chest. "Yeah, that sounds like Fish. She hates finding a mess in her club – the place is the apple of her eye." He grew serious and studied his hat. "I didn't just come out here to shoot the breeze with you, Emily."

I felt strangely nervous in Harvey's presence; his aspect had darkened. "Is something wrong?"

"You might say that," he met my eyes. "I got word through the grapevine that you are resigning from the force and going into civilian employment. I can't say as I blame you, vice is like stepping in a pile of dog crap only you can't scrape the remains off your shoe. I was surprised to hear you were going to work for Sean Riley."

Shock blazed through me and I was rendered speechless.

Harvey shook his head. "Riley is a bad man, Emily. I've heard stories about him that would scare the shit out of most hardened twenty year men on the force, me included. Look, this clown might seem on the up and up; he might even play at being legitimate with all the businesses he owns but he is one sadistic bastard. I would stay clear of him."

"Harvey," I was barely able to think, never mind speak. "Who told you I was going to work for Sean Riley?"

He looked uncomfortable. "I heard it around."

"Uh-huh," I whistled, shaking my head. "Please tell Fish the rumors are a load of bunk. I have no intention of working for Sean Riley."

Harvey brightened a little. "I knew you were smarter than you looked."

I tried not to smile and failed miserably. "Yeah… amazing that I'm not an airhead. I'm not sure who has been spreading the manure, but I'm getting a little annoyed."

"One of Gotham's main exports is bull crap," He shoved his hat back on his head. "You return Monday so I'll swing by vice and welcome you back to the fold."

I held out my hand and we shook. "No disrespect but please don't."

He laughed. "They love me in vice."

"Keep hallucinating and I'll give you Dr. Parry's number so you can make an appointment."

Harvey snickered and started walking. "See you in a couple of days, kiddo."

I waived and hurried into the building; my mind consumed with the rumor of my pending employment.

Sean Riley was technically an independent leader in the mob – he answered to no one. The Irish mob was as deadly as the Italian mafia, the Russians, or the Yakuza. The Irish simply were lower on the radar because they weren't as power hungry as the rest. Riley and his crew were happy in their own section of Gotham opening legitimate businesses with their ill-gotten gain; the businesses flourished. Riley had a chain of grocery stores, two construction companies, and a tech company that did business with Wayne Enterprises. What could get me killed was the fact it was well known that Sean Riley and Salvatore Maroni were good friends in a city dominated by Don Falcone.

Suddenly I was ice cold.

There was only one source Mr. Riley could have possibly had. My fingers were numb as I dialed the phone. Finally, a familiar voice caressed my ear.

"Emily, sweetheart, how are you this evening?"

I took a deep breath and plunged into the abyss. "Mom, did you talk to Sean Riley about me?"

The silence spoke louder than words. A deep sigh born of weariness reached out over the line. "I might have mentioned your troubles. Sean and I ran into each other the other day. He was very concerned about your well-being."

Anger ripped through me. I took a deep breath and expelled it before replying. "I don't want you talking to Mr. Riley about me. Someone from work stopped by and mentioned hearing a rumor I was quitting to go work for him."

"Would it be so bad to work for Mr. Riley?"

"Mom," I couldn't keep the ice from my voice. "Don't do it again."

Instead of answering, Mom hung up the phone.

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><p><strong>AN: The next two chapters are both from Emily's perspective and are leading up to the first episode of Gotham. Part Two of the story will take place during the Gotham timeline and I will be bumping up the rating to M.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Thanks for reviewing: Lady Ravanna, Cee, Aaron, CeliaSingsSongs, Jotunheim Storm, Guest, lulu2613, SparklingMist, Dreamweaver74, FOREVERMORE, and FuchsiaGrasshopper. I appreciate it. :)**

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><p>The last few weeks sitting around at home left me bored out of my mind. I had visited the bookstore numerous times, drank enough espresso to perk up a class of college freshmen after cramming all night, and run so many laps around the park I needed a new pair of running shoes. The activities which had once been pleasures of mine had slowly morphed into torments.<p>

Luckily, I was back to work on Monday.

One bright spot was my upcoming night out with Oswald. I have never been a tremendous fan of the ballet, but it I loved classical music. My expectations consisted of a pleasant evening between two friends.

I had nothing in my closet remotely semi-formal so I headed out to a local department store. My bank account was a lot lighter from weeks of suspension without pay. I managed to find a decent black cocktail dress and elegant pumps on sale so I returned home far more pleased than when I left.

To his credit, Oswald kept his promise and there were no more random meetings.

He called me two nights earlier to solidify our plans for this evening. How he managed to obtain my home number was not a subject I wished to entertain. I suspected the same person who gave Oswald my address slipped him my number as well.

I was just getting dressed when the doorbell chimed. To my shock it was my mother.

"Mom, what are you doing here?"

She passed by me into the apartment without even turning in my direction. "Sweetheart, I know you said you want to stay in Gotham. I just have reservations about what you might be facing. I want you to come to Baltimore."

I closed the door and leaned against it. "We discussed this, Mom. I'm staying in Gotham. I have a job and I'll be just fine."

Mom stopped and looked at me; her eyes growing wide. "Emily Ann Maguire… I haven't seen you in a dress since your high school graduation." She rushed up to me and brushed her knuckles against my cheek. "You're wearing makeup and high heels! Do I smell perfume?"

My face grew hot under her perusal. "I may have spritzed a little Chanel No. 5." I cleared my throat. "Is it too much?"

She shook her head and smiled broadly. "No, my dear, you were very subtle with the fragrance." Mom picked up a lock of my hair. "I can see why you are so reluctant to leave Gotham. You have a beau and you didn't even tell me. Is he a policeman?"

I laughed. "Oh god no! You've completely mistaken…"

The doorbell chimed and I released a sigh.

Mom clapped her hands together with glee. "Go ahead and finish getting dressed. I'll entertain your friend."

_No way in hell was that going to happen. Poor Oswald._

"I'm ready," I announced.

She raised one eyebrow. "You haven't fixed your hair."

I slipped my feet into the heels I bought earlier. "I'm wearing it down tonight."

Mom grinned.

Taking a deep breath, I threw open the door.

Oswald was dressed in an old-fashioned tuxedo with tails and a white waistcoat. His hair was slightly spiked and he held a bottle of wine. The entire look was agreeable to him. A nervous smile, tight-lipped with no teeth, proved to me once more he was a little on the bashful side.

The moment he truly looked at me, his eyes grew wide. "Emily, you look lovely."

"Thank you," I took the wine bottle he held out. "You don't look so bad yourself."

He blinked and gestured at the wine. "I picked up a Chardonnay. I thought maybe we could have a glass of wine after the performance."

Mom cleared her throat.

Oswald's brow drew into a knot; lending him a confused air. He tilted his head and studied her closely before a large, bright smile crossed his face. "You must be Emily's mother. Please allow me to introduce myself, my name is Oswald Cobblepot." He edged around me and held out his hand to Mom. "It is such a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Maguire. I can see Emily inherited her beautiful eyes from you."

My mother blushed like a young, inexperienced girl. She accepted his hand and giggled when he pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "Why thank you, Mr. Cobblepot. Aren't you a sweet young man? Where did you meet Emily?"

"Crime scene," I blurted.

Her brow rose and Oswald flashed a tiny smile at her. "Oh dear…"

He cleared his throat. "I was the victim of a most unfortunate assault and your daughter was the detective assigned to the case. We have kept our friendship quiet – the GCPD would frown upon Emily dating a crime victim."

I tugged on my jacket. "Mom, Oswald and I have to get going or we'll be late."

Oswald looked surprised but quickly played along. "Oh yes! The ballet is quite unforgiving to tardy patrons." He kissed her hand again. "I hope you understand."

Mom was grinning from ear to ear. "I understand all too well. Have a good evening." She swept out the door like a queen and I quickly locked it behind her.

I let out a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

He smiled. "Please don't apologize. I found your mother charming."

Nodding, I crossed the room and set the wine on the table. "I love Chardonnay."

"What a coincidence, so do I," Oswald answered from behind me.

I turned and he was right behind me; his eyes dark with emotion. He studied me a moment longer before turning toward my bed. Oswald stood with his hands loose at his sides and his head slightly bowed.

Those delicate tendrils of attraction shifted through my belly and radiated up until I could feel my heart slamming against my ribs. I felt a longing to be close to Oswald. I had no idea why – we were two vastly different people on separate tracks through life.

He seemed so mild-mannered, so polite, and yet deep down I could sense his core was tempered of titanium. Oswald might play down his strength, but I had felt it so many times since we first met. I could only imagine what he was like when he decided to drop his timidity.

I had never been so completely aware of how the bed dominated my flat as I was now. I felt naughty as though I exposed my panties to him the way he just stared at my bed in silence. An electric current was humming between us and from his occasional twitch, I was certain he felt it.

"Did you buy those tickets to the ballet?" I asked quietly.

Oswald shook his head. "No, they were a gift to Miss Mooney and she was unable to attend."

I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. "And did you rent that tux?"

He turned toward me; confusion in his eyes. "No."

"Can we stay here?" I asked quietly.

Oswald blinked. "Of course, if you prefer." He cleared his throat. "Shall we have a glass of wine?"

I stepped out of my heels, bringing me back to eye level with him. "I would love a glass of wine." Stripping off my coat, I held my hand out to him. "Give me your jacket."

Red dusted his cheeks and the tips of his ears. His fingers were shaking as he struggled with the buttons. An anxious laugh escaped his throat as he finally stripped off the outermost shell of his clothing. "I appear to be suffering from a case of nerves."

I accepted the garment and quickly hung the piece in my closet. "Don't be nervous, Oswald. You've only taken off your jacket and we're friends."

He flashed a raw smile at me. "I've never been in just my shirtsleeves in the presence of a woman." Oswald's lip trembled and he gave a husky laugh before turning toward the window. "Please excuse the oddity of my behavior."

Stepping in front of him, I cupped his chin. "Hey, you have no need to apologize to me. You've never had a girlfriend?"

He gave a slight shake of the head. His eyes had taken on a wary expression; another emotion glistening darkly in those stormy depths.

I tucked my face into the crook of his neck; my hands pressed against his chest between our bodies. He smelled so good I was almost dizzy – salty, clean, with a hint of rosemary and musk. The beat of his heart was thrumming madly against my palms through the layers of his clothes. I could have stayed all night pressed up against him.

To my surprise, his hands finally moved. They skimmed along my biceps and shoulders to become pleasantly tangled in my hair. Those long fingers caressed my scalp fleetingly before stroking through the mass until reaching my shoulders. He wound his hands through my hair again and again as though memorizing the texture.

His breathing hitched as he rested his cheek against mine. "We should enjoy our wine before the bottle warms."

"Umhmm."

"Please," Oswald's voice held a lilting plea. "We need to catch our breath before I'm tempted to commit a very boorish act."

I pushed back from him; our mouths almost touched in passing and our breath mingled. I blinked rapidly and smiled as I padded toward the table. My skin felt frigid with the space between us.

He appeared dazed as he watched me fetch glasses and a corkscrew. "You are certain about staying in?"

Nodding, I laid the corkscrew beside the bottle. "Only if you aren't uncomfortable being here. I see the way you keep looking at the bed."

His snowy skin took on a dull red shade and he turned his head from me; shame written starkly across his features. "Yes, forgive me, Emily. I have never been in a woman's boudoir aside from my mother's."

I was confused. "But you seemed at ease when we had pizza."

A soft, dismayed laugh escaped his throat. "Indeed, but you looked rather different. Less… sensual."

"Oswald?" I called quietly.

He turned and inched toward the table. With wary eyes, Oswald picked up the corkscrew. Within a minute the Chardonnay was flowing. He handed me a glass before taking up his own. "Are you excited to return to work?"

"Yes and no," I replied before sipping the wine. "I was demoted to vice and I understand the assignment is less than enjoyable. The Chardonnay is exquisite."

"The wine is pleasant," Oswald drank his wine silently. "How is vice less enjoyable than homicide? To my way of thinking it would be far more stressful dealing with murders."

I shook my head. "Murder is horrific, please don't misunderstand me. In vice a detective must deal with prostitution, illegal gambling, drugs – the whole nine yards. You keep running into the same perps and victims. Investigating a homicide feels more like making a difference to me if that makes any sense."

"I suppose so," he replied. "I suggest we make a vow never to discuss business on personal time."

I could feel myself blushing under his heavy gaze. "You want to continue seeing me?"

Oswald stepped closer to me. "Asking questions when you already know the answer is unbecoming, Emily." We stood eye to eye; our gazes locked. "I want you to wear your hair down for me when we are alone together." He reached out and wrapped a strand around his cool finger. "Just for me, no one else is to see you like this. I want you to promise."

The core strength he possessed was coming to the forefront, pushing aside his mild manners. Oswald's eyes were filled with hot blue sparks, his pupils growing larger. This was the real man beneath the meek exterior – powerful with a will like iron. As much as I found his softer side attractive, this Oswald was the one that stopped me in my tracks. I wanted this dark, unfamiliar Oswald as much as he frightened me.

"I promise," I whispered.

No smile touched Oswald's lips as his eyes drifted over me with all the strength of hands on my skin. He released my hair and captured my chin in his cold fingers. "Lovely," he drawled before pressing his mouth against my jaw.

As cold as his hands were, Oswald's mouth was burning; his body radiating heat.

I shivered as Oswald ran his lips across my jaw to the vulnerable flesh of my throat. Without warning, he bit down hard enough to leave a mark. I moaned and thrust my hands into his hair; mussing it badly. The feel of my fingers tugging drew a soft, strangled sound from deep inside him.

He pulled back and watched me from beneath hooded eyes. "Kiss me," Oswald ground out.

I cupped his cheeks and pressed my lips against his. The feel of his hands on my waist like steel bands only inflamed me further. He was supple and tasted of wine and something darker; his mouth mimicked mine as I stroked my lips against his. I caught his lower lip between my teeth and gently nipped it.

A deep rumble escaped Oswald's chest, his mouth falling slack against mine.

I pulled back, panting.

His cheeks were flushed and his eyes had darkened to near indigo. His lips were stained red, not only from our kisses, but my lipstick. He was clearly aroused. "I have to go," Oswald muttered. "Before I do something we both regret later."

"No," I mewed; tightening my fingers in his waistcoat.

Oswald drew in a deep breath. "I must go. The last thing I want to do is ravish you."

_Ravish…_ I imagined him pushing me back against the bed and stripping me bare; my skin sliding against his suit clad body.

Pressing my cheek against his, I breathed into his ear. "Stay."

He kissed my neck before entangling his body from mine. "Patience, my Lark," Oswald counseled me. "All good things come to those who wait. I want to court you properly, I'm a gentleman. This week I'm bringing you out to dinner and I want you wearing this dress."

I nodded and he gave me a fleeting smile.

"You must think I'm disgusting," I stated with a laugh. "I've never thrown myself at a man before."

Oswald caught my hand and kissed my knuckles with great gentleness. "I will never think ill of you."

I nodded and retrieved his coat. He had no trouble buttoning his jacket; his fingers steady.

We stood together in the threshold smiling shyly at one another until he pressed his mouth against mine one last time before walking toward the elevator. I watched him, my fingers pressed against my lips, until the doors closed and he was gone.

* * *

><p>The mere thought of the lambasting I would receive nearly kept me at home.<p>

Vice was located in the same building as homicide, but on a lower floor. The entire department looked like a dungeon – gloomy with large open holding cells lining the right wall. Overflowing with battered old desks harkening back to the 40's and 50's, the walls were painted a depressing shade of deep grey. Long, thin windows not unlike transom windows were set high above filtering down precious little of Gotham's daylight.

I wandered past desks with detectives arguing with enraged hookers and pimps until I reached the back wall. There at a wide desk was a Hispanic male in his mid to late thirties with a buzz cut and tired dark eyes. He was typing madly on his computer with a sour frown on his face.

"Are you Detective Hector Esperanza?" I asked.

He glanced up at me. "Who the hell wants to know? If you are IA, talk to my union rep."

I cleared my throat. "I'm Detective Emily Maguire. I'm supposed to be working with you." I gestured to the box of my belongings on the desk facing his; moved down from my old desk up in homicide courtesy of Captain Essen.

A dark chuckle was torn from his throat as Esperanza leaned back in his chair. "Oh yeah, you're the chica who laid the ass whooping on Fish Mooney's mook." He held up two fists and made a few boxing jabs. "I wish I could have watched that go down."

A lieutenant passed by and Esperanza quickly rose from his chair and stuck out his hand. "To be safe, we won't mention your little _incident_ around here. There are lots of," he leaned close to my ear. "snitches." Standing tall once more, he moved back. "Harvey Bullock says you are top notch so that makes you all good in my book. You ever work a vice case?"

I shook my head. "No sir."

"Call me Hector," he grabbed his jacket and shrugged into it. "I guess there is no time like the present. We are going out for a ride, get you used to the cesspool that is Gotham vice. Come on."

I followed him to the elevators.

Hector eyeballed me warily. "Harvey mentioned you have a degree in law, that true?"

Nodding, I crossed my arms over my chest. "Yes, it is. Do you have a problem with that?"

"Not as long as you don't quote the law chapter and verse while I'm making busts." He snorted with laughter. "Seeing as how you ended up down here with me, I don't think we'll have a problem."

I smiled.

The elevator doors opened to reveal the scruffy, grinning face of none other than Harvey Bullock. He was holding a sad looking peace lily in his hands and a somber-faced, but handsome, clean-shaved man stood close behind him.

Harvey stepped off the elevator and shoved the plant in my hands. "Emily, baby, here you go – a little something to make you feel at home." He threw one arm around my shoulders and hugged me tightly to him; I could smell the pleasant fragrance of his cologne. "How is Hector treating you?"

"Great," I replied with a smile as Harvey released me. "Hector was just taking me out to get me acquainted with the cesspool."

A laugh was torn from Harvey's throat as he shook his head. "Trust me, you'll get used to it. Sort of." He cleared his throat as I pinned my gaze on his. "Maybe not. Oh," Harvey gestured toward the younger man behind him. "This is my new partner, Jim Gordon. Jim, this is Emily Maguire, she used to work in our department, and Hector Esperanza, senior detective in vice."

We all shook hands.

Jim looked decidedly uncomfortable. "Sorry to hear about your… trouble."

I shrugged. "No problem, I made my own grief."

He gave me a tight smile in return.

Harvey was watching me with amusement as I eyeballed the plant in my hands. "This looks familiar…" I wagged a finger at him. "Did you steal this plant from Renee Montoya's desk?"

Jim shook his head and Hector laughed as Harvey began tugging at his tie. "I prefer the term 'liberated'. Miss High and Mighty is too busy dividing her time between sticking her nose up the commissioner's ass and prying into my business to take care of that plant. Hell, look at how pitiful it is! A peace lily should be three times that size."

"Well I'll be damned," Hector managed between hearty guffaws. "You are like a plant whisperer."

Harvey rolled his eyes. "Blow it out your ear, Esperanza. I had a girlfriend who worked in a floral shop. Come on, Gordon, we have to get going."

Even I had heard Bullock and Gordon had caught the Wayne murder case. Thomas and Martha Wayne murdered in front of their young son. The thought sickened me. What was Gotham coming to when you couldn't take a walk without being murdered? Even worse, I considered the boy lucky he hadn't been killed as well.

I smiled at Harvey as he punched the call button for the elevator.

He gave me a half-hearted glare before winking.

I shook my head and turned to Esperanza. "I need to put the plant on my desk."

"No worries," Esperanza retorted.

Carefully, I placed the pilfered plant on the corner of my desk closest to the wall. The last thing I needed was that vindictive Montoya up my ass thanks to Bullock's sick sense of humor.


	10. Chapter 10

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><p>"Ma'am, I won't ask you again, I need a form of identification," Esperanza stated calmly.<p>

The frizzy-haired, dark-skinned woman slapped her hand on the hood of our sedan. She was dressed in a tight miniskirt that was in danger of flashing her coochie to the whole neighborhood. "Why should I have to give you ID?! I was just walking and minding my own beeswax and you come along harassing me."

I continued chewing gum and widened my eyes when Esperanza looked my way.

He shook his head. "With all due respect ma'am, we have you on suspicion of prostitution."

She stared at him. "You ain't got nothing on me you piece of crap."

Esperanza rolled his eyes. "Detective Maguire, do you care to explain this dear lady her rights?"

I continued chewing my gum and held up my hands.

"You are under arrest for prostitution and failure to cooperate with law enforcement." Hector pulled out his handcuffs. "Please turn around and put your hands behind your back."

The woman spat on Esperanza's shoes. "Go to hell, pig! When Gambol finds out what you did, he's gonna teach you a lesson."

He grabbed the struggling prostitute and spun her around, throwing her hard against the trunk of the car. The cuffs had barely been snapped in place when she began screaming her head off. "Man, I have a migraine," Hector groused as he tossed the enraged female in the back of the car and slammed the door. "What do you say we get lunch after booking this chica?"

I nodded. "That sounds good to me. Who is this Gambol character?"

Hector grumbled. "Don't even bring up that name. He's some pimp outta the south side that thinks he's hot shit. The only good thing about the douche is he treats his working girls well. Gambol will be down bailing out our new friend before lunch."

I merely nodded.

* * *

><p>As it turns out, Esperanza was wrong and the illustrious Mr. Gambol didn't show up until it was almost time to clock out. Our bashful friend was identified, via fingerprints, as one Nikita Henshaw. She was very irate at being locked up in our holding cell for almost six hours. The sheer stamina it took to maintain her shrill vocal range that long was both impressive and exasperating.<p>

Gambol was surprisingly young, in his early twenties, with a smooth copper-brown skin and features handsome enough to make an angel weep. He was dressed to perfection in a suit that would have rivaled Oswald's save that Gambol's was clearly designer quality.

He swept in followed by a beautiful young woman swathed in a white mink and what appeared to be two bodyguards. Annoyance drifted over his face as he looked first at me and then over to Esperanza. "Who is in charge here?"

I pointed at my partner.

Hector shot a glare in my direction before standing to face Mr. Gambol. "Detective Esperanza. What can I do for you?"

Gambol shook Hector's hand briefly before jerking his thumb toward the holding cell. "Niki called and gave me the troubling news she had been arrested just walking the street and minding her own business."

"Oh she was walking the street all right," I mumbled.

The man's eyes briefly slid in my direction before returning to my partner. "What will it take to make this silly charge disappear? I can assure you Niki was not attempting to sell her body."

Hector sighed. "You made it just in time, Mr. Gambol. I was getting ready to send your girl to the tombs for the night. I'll make this easy – you take the loudmouth off my hands and I don't see her marching up and down Carver Street in the future."

I kept my lips firmly sealed despite my burning desire to laugh hysterically.

Gambol nodded. "I will see to it both requests will be abided by." He paused and studied his perfectly manicured nails. "I am privy to some information you might find interesting, Detective."

Esperanza returned with the now curiously silent Nikita. He snorted. "That so? Why would you be willing to impart such intelligence to me? I'm sure it isn't out of the goodness of your heart."

"Not really," Gambol retorted with a smirk. "I simply believe in being a good citizen and quite frankly there are some behaviors I find morally repulsive."

My attention snapped to the man and I stood. "Are you talking about kids?"

He nodded. "Child trafficking is a filthy, perverse behavior no matter how you slice it. I don't like finding it in my territory."

Esperanza's jaw tightened. "Gimme the address."

"3434 South Edwards Street," Gambol replied. "I sincerely hope you can clean up the problem." Without another word, the pimp departed with Nikita and his entourage.

"Are we going out tonight?" I asked.

My partner snorted and shook his head. "My anniversary is tonight and my old lady isn't very understanding. We can go ahead and start surveillance in the morning."

Horror rushed through me. "But…"

Esperanza jammed his finger beneath my nose. "I'm telling you tomorrow morning. Get it?"

I held up my hands. "Got it."

"Good," he replied tiredly. "Otherwise I'm going to make you explain to my wife. I would hate for you to end up in the hospital."

* * *

><p>Oswald was supposed to take me out to dinner so I went home to change. I suspected my mind would be on my workday tomorrow instead of enjoying time with my friend.<p>

When the doorbell rang, I was finishing the last touches of makeup. "I'm coming."

Oswald seemed nervous as he eased into my apartment. He watched me lock the door as though trying to assure himself I had the lock engaged properly. The first thing I noticed aside from Oswald's anxious behavior was the fact he wasn't dressed as sharply as he normally was.

"Good evening," he smiled and fear seemed to bleed into his expression. "You look truly lovely."

I smiled and stepped closer to him. "Are you okay? You look a little peaked."

He gave a shaky laugh. "I'm rather ashamed to tell you that I must break off our dinner date. I am terribly sorry."

"Can I ask why?"

Oswald hesitated. "I made an error in judgment it seems. The last thing I want to do is drag you into my mess."

I laid my palms on his chest. "Oswald, please tell me what is going on."

He studied my face; letting his hands rest over my own. "Can I stay here for a few hours?"

I nodded. "Yes, of course. Give me your jacket. I have really lovely leftover manicotti from last night."

Oswald was less shaky removing his coat than the last time he had been here. He handed me the jacket and watched me hang it up. He was utterly silent; his expression one I could not define.

The moment I neared him, Oswald acted.

"If manicotti isn't appealing I can make spaghetti…"

His hands were surprisingly strong as they wrapped around my wrists. One moment, I was standing and babbling about dinner; the next I was crashing against his body, our mouths sealed together intimately. He growled deep in his throat before moving us backward. We tripped awkwardly, our hands never leaving one another as we fell in concert onto my mattress.

Side by side, we kissed feverishly.

I finally pulled away from him. "Oswald, what are you doing?"

He reached over and cupped my cheek. "Burning you into my memory." Before I could reply, his lips covered mine. To my surprise, I felt his tongue slid along the seam of my mouth seeking entry. I indulged him and parted my lips.

The hot, wet sweep of his tongue against mine was painfully erotic. My fingers curled into the hair at the nape of his neck. I arched my body against him; the feel of his hardness against my belly set my blood sizzling through my veins. He reacted with a soft groan before rolling under me.

Oswald pulled back, his breathing erratic and his eyes wide. "You have no idea how much I want you, Emily." I was propped up on my elbows. "Please don't deny you want me."

I nodded, my hands cupping his face. "Yes, Oswald, I do want you."

He moved his head and pressed his lips against my palm. "My lark." His breathing calmed as he looked up at me. "I knew it; I knew you had feelings for me."

Running my hands up into his hair, I caressed his scalp. "Tell me what is going on, Oswald."

Instead of speaking, he lowered me on top of him. Oswald buried his face in my neck before running a hand through my hair. "I believe I made an error at work. Tonight I will discover one way or another how fate will treat me."

I embraced him. "Maybe I can help you."

A soft kiss was pressed against my throat before Oswald lifted his head. "No." The expression on his face was absolutely chilling; forbidding and commanding at once. "I will not involve you in this. No matter what anyone tells you, do _**not**_ attempt to concern yourself with my situation."

"Oswald," fear was pulsing through me, swamping my desire. "You're frightening me. Is someone trying to hurt you?"

He slithered from my grasp before standing. Straightening his waistcoat and shirt, Oswald looked down at me with dispassion. "Perhaps," he allowed. "Do you know what happens when an angry man discovers what his rival loves most in the world?"

I moved into a sitting position and shook my head. "No."

Oswald cupped my chin; his lips twisted into a strange smile. "The angry man's rival dies twice: once when what he loves is destroyed and a second time when his body follows suit." He kissed my temple and released me. "I want you to stay safe for me. I prefer to die only once."

I stood and followed him to the closet. "I'm strong enough to help you if you would just talk to me and let me know what is going on."

He pulled out his jacket and shrugged into it. "No you aren't," Oswald stated coolly. "One day you will be, but not now."

I kissed him; passion overwhelming my common sense. His eyes were glazed when he pulled away.

He was at the door before I managed to speak. "I do care about you."

Oswald gave me a small, shy smile and nodded before leaving.

* * *

><p>The next morning I nearly was shot as vice raided the apartment building Gambol informed us about. My mind was on a certain dark-haired, cerulean-eyed man. I was worried about him. The night before, Oswald had behaved like a man going to the gallows. After nearly taking a bullet to the face, I managed to stay on task.<p>

Esperanza spent some quality time kicking ass while I took as much information from the four children involved as possible. No older than ten, the little boys had been subject to abuse and degradation no human being should ever have to endure. After DSS collected the little boys, I was drawn to the back bedroom where Hector had the perp.

"Yeah?" Hector was testy, flexing his scraped knuckles.

I looked down at the man cringing on the floor. He wasn't much older than me with a mop of greasy pale brown hair that hid the majority of his ugly face. Dressed in simple jeans and a now bloody sweater, he held up shaking hands to me.

"Please," he whined. "You're a cop! This guy is trying to kill me."

Hatred poured over me. "What difference does it make to me? You were letting men pay to rape _children_. If you die that is one less pedophile scumbag on the street."

Hector smirked at the babbling man. "She has a point, bubba."

He started to cry. "Please don't kill me! I can give you information about others."

"What others?" I asked dubiously.

"The men who were my customers! Don't you want to arrest them?"

Hector heaved a sigh. "I suppose the dirtbag has a point."

I lashed out and landed a solid kick between the man's legs; he curled inward like a dying flower and wept. "Yeah, I suppose so."

* * *

><p>I didn't hear from Oswald Cobblepot that night or the next. A strange, uncomfortable feeling washed over me. The morning I heard Renee Montoya and Crispus Allen mention Oswald and 'missing' in the same sentence terror turned my insides to jelly.<p>

It was hard for me to admit my emotions to anyone. Having feelings for Oswald was doubly strange since I knew his job involved criminal activities. On one hand, I cared deeply for him and yet I felt as though I were betraying myself because I was a cop.

Going to Fish Mooney was out of the question.

I decided to go to the next best source.

Harvey Bullock was standing beside the elevator when I caught up to him. "Hey Maguire, how's it going?"

I grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to a darkened corner near a group of filing cabinets. "Harvey, I need your help."

He took one look at me and nodded; grasping me by the shoulders. "What is it? You look like hell warmed over."

Taking a deep breath, I plunged ahead. "I have a friend who disappeared and I'm really concerned he has been hurt."

"Who is it?" Harvey asked.

I cleared my throat. "His name is Oswald Cobblepot and he works for Fish Mooney. Obviously, I can't just march in her club and demand information about him…"

Harvey turned dead white. He grabbed me by the arm and hauled me into a nearby janitorial closet. "Cobblepot is dead. I can't give you any details, but I can tell you to drop the questions."

A gasp escaped my throat and I instinctively covered my mouth. I shook my head.

He reached out and caressed my shoulder. "Baby, I'm sorry. That little penguin is dead."

"Why?" I forced from between numb lips as tears formed in my eyes. "Who would kill him? Oswald was sweet and humble…"

"Yeah, I'll bet," Harvey ground out. "He was also a snitch. Shit, Emily, we both know what happens to a snitch in this city."

The pain in my chest was like being tortured with acid; everything burned and ached. Tears rolled down my face and I wept without shame. I hadn't cried since my father died. My body was shaking and dimly, as though from a great distance, I heard screaming.

I found out later it had been my shrieks echoing through the closet while Harvey Bullock rocked me like a sick child.

How is it that I could have such strong feelings for Oswald and not know? Oswald Cobblepot had managed to worm his way past my defenses. Now he was gone, just like my father. I was back to experiencing the same agony I had sworn to never suffer again.

When I was able to stand on my own, Harvey moved away from me. His shirt was wet with my mascara and tears. I knew I must look a fright and I didn't care. I felt cold and bitterly pained. I watched Harvey's face carefully as he spoke.

"I'm sorry, kiddo. I had no idea the two of you were friends."

"Was it Mooney or Falcone?" I asked tonelessly.

Harvey drew up to his full height. "Emily, don't do this. Getting yourself in trouble with the powers that be won't bring the guy back."

"I need to know."

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Falcone."

I nodded. "And who murdered him?"

"Shit Emily," Harvey hissed.

I simply stared at him.

He took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair. "Gordon pulled the trigger under duress from Falcone."

"Your partner," I shook my head. "And you let him?"

"I like breathing," Harvey retorted. "So does Jim. Trust me, it wasn't pleasant and he didn't enjoy it."

I turned and opened the door. Harvey was on my heels.

"Please tell me you aren't going to do something stupid."

I passed by the elevator and into the homicide department. Jim Gordon was sitting at his desk reading a report. He looked up as I came up beside him. He wore a confused expression and attempted a friendly smile. "Emily…"

Before Harvey could stop me, I grabbed Jim by his shirt and dragged him, chair and all, toward the railing. I took hold of his head and slammed it against the wood with enough force it knocked him out of the chair. I moved to backhand him, but Harvey was on me before I could.

Jim's eyes were cloudy with pain, anger, and confusion. "What the hell?!" He groaned.

I pointed at him. "I don't forget."

"Damn it!" Harvey swore as he swung my body away from Jim. "You've screwed up real good this time, kiddo."

Captain Essen's door swung open and she emerged from her office. Her dark eyes grew wide and anger flooded her features. "What on earth is going on here, Maguire?"

I struggled to reach my badge and gun under Harvey's effective bear hug. "I quit!" The items dropped to the floor. "I FUCKING QUIT!"

She stared as though shocked for a moment; her mouth opening and closing like a dying guppy. Finally, Captain Essen pointed toward the elevator. "Bullock, get her the hell out of here. Gordon, get in my office."

Harvey did as ordered. He even went so far as to see me to the sidewalk. The look on his face was one of exhaustion and grave disappointment. Harvey released me and studied me warily. "Do yourself a favor, Maguire. Keep away from the GCPD and Mooney. I can't help you if you want to act like a fruitcake."

I stared at him. "I have a very long memory. What was done to Oswald is horrible."

He seemed troubled and cleared his throat. "Go take a vacation… get out of town if you need to. Don't make me do anything _I_ will regret."

Nodding, I did the smart thing at the time. I turned and walked away.

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><p><strong>AN: First an announcement, my wife is having a C-section tomorrow so this is my last update until Saturday. When I update the story will be changed to an M rating and the first chapter will be Oswald's perspective. **

**I used Gambol from the Dark Knight in this chapter because I enjoyed his character. And Oswald's speech to Emily about the angry man and his rival was inspired by a clip of Oswald I saw on Youtube stating if you know what a man loves you know what can kill him.**


	11. Chapter 11 - Part Two

**Thanks for reviewing: Franny C, Lady Ravanna, Dreamweaver 74, Jotumheim Storm, lulu2613, Lola93091, FucshiaGrasshopper, Aaron, miserychick-17, Dragonknight4000, SparklingMist, FOREVERMORE, Chocoholics Unite, mancer, Jilly-Bean, and Guests**. **I appreciate your support!**

A/N: My sincere apologies for not reviewing until today. My wife is still not home from the hospital but our son is so I'm sure you can guess what I've been up to! I'm going to be picking her up today so no worries. I just wanted to let you know the rating has been changed to M and Rachel and Jocelyn are my takes on Raven and Jay from the comics who are also close associates of Penguin.

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><p>Murder has always been distasteful to me. Not unlike being forced to wear a second hand suit straight from a consignment shop without the benefit of being thoroughly cleaned. The dirtiness of the act was the most unforgiveable of morally reprehensible behaviors.<p>

I was hardly innocent of taking a life prior to working for Miss Mooney. This is Gotham, after all, and one must be prepared to take whatever action necessary in order to survive. I much preferred using my wits as opposed to taking someone's life. In the end, if I needed to kill, I would.

Looking back over the events of the last few days, I can see I have been woefully ignorant and unprepared. I should have known Mooney would discover my machinations to replace her. I wanted to tear out my own hair at my sheer folly in thinking otherwise.

I looked around the trailer I had been occupying one last time.

The pictures and notes I had taped to the ceiling were gone as was any trace of the young fool and his friend who picked me up. Disposal of evidence was remarkably easy in the countryside.

Jim Gordon had ordered me never to return to Gotham. Despite Falcone and Mooney's order, Gordon didn't shoot me. He spared my life when such an act of mercy was completely unnecessary – dangerous even. His generosity made him an ally in my view. Oh, I had no unrealistic fantasy that this man was a friend, but I could use someone in my corner aside from Emily and my mother.

Carmine Falcone might well see me as a means to procure information, but he would not hesitate to end my life the moment I proved inconvenient. Our bargain was not forged out of anything other than mutual need. I am not a fool. Ingratiating myself with Salvatore Maroni would be a challenge. My mind was turning with all the possibilities.

As for lingering in the hinterlands surrounding the city or moving on to another urban area…

No, Gotham is my home. My destiny is entwined with the city. I'm not going anywhere.

A smile pushed my lips upward.

I'm heading home.

Maroni and Mooney are far too filled with hubris to believe their positions are anything but rock solid. The pair of them feel their power sets them above everyone else. Neither has an inkling someone like me can toppled them from their high perches.

Fish Mooney is first on my list.

My ankle throbbed in response to her name. I grunted with the pain. "Bitch," I breathed into the air. "My face will be the last sight you witness before I pluck out your eyes."

I know beyond any doubt that I _will_ be responsible for Miss Mooney's demise. I want her to die by my hand, to see the smile of satisfaction on my face before I pop the eyes from her head like marbles. My hatred went beyond the fact she tortured me physically for my betrayal. I despised her for the cold, condescending manner in which she spoke to me. Every joke she ever made at my expense was a nail in her coffin.

Most of all, I loathed the nickname she enjoyed so much…

_Penguin._

How she tittered with Gilzean and the others over that ridiculous moniker, shaming me with every snicker.

Fish Mooney was going to pay for what she had done. Painfully. _Slowly._

* * *

><p>Once the door was closed, I headed to the SUV my erstwhile tormentors had been driving.<p>

The moment I slipped inside, I collapsed against the wheel.

Memories of soft, yielding flesh perfumed with lavender and sweet musk fill my mind. The warmth of her body and response to me are torturous recollections.

"Emily," I whispered.

Those dark eyes sparkling with wit and kindness, her lips tasted of wine and vanilla. My gut ached with loss. As much as I wanted to go to her apartment and retreat to the safety of her arms, I knew better.

I wanted Emily, but I needed her alive far more than temporary gratification. At the moment, Oswald Cobblepot is dead to Gotham. I have no doubt she has learned of my _demise_. Approaching her before I have accomplished my goal is to sentence Emily Maguire to death. If word were to reach Mooney or Falcone I formed a friendship with Emily, I doubt the dolts would anticipate a romantic relationship; they would use her against me.

Most likely she would be killed.

The strength, intelligence, and kindness I admired in Emily were traits to build on. She was capable of so much more than spending her life busting harlots and low level drug dealers. I have plans for my Lark to join the organization I planned to build.

I need someone with her strength and loyalty to stand beside me.

Maybe I was going mad – clearly I was selfish to worry so about Emily when I had considered my own mother only twice since this nightmare began.

Pushing back from the wheel, I started the SUV and head towards Gotham.

I would be strong and reach my goal.

Lark needed to remain in the shadows for now.

* * *

><p>I killed a man who threatened to turn me over to Fish Mooney. I took his money and bought a tuna sandwich. Guilt was lessening with each life I took. I almost imagined in my mind's eye the blood on my hands. Still, what I've done is protect my own life.<p>

My leg ached abominably as I approached the abandoned building. Gritting my teeth, I pushed my legs to carry me onward. I needed money so employment is a must. Until I'm able to secure work with Mr. Maroni, I will be forced to rough it.

Maroni's territory is not the best half of the city by far, but it would have to suffice.

Lonney Tower was a nineteen story building erected in the late 1920's when Gotham was growing by leaps and bounds. The rich and famous all vied for apartments in the Art Deco edifice. My mother had seen the interior when she first arrived in Gotham and spun lovely stories of the sophistication this dwelling possessed. By the 1960's, Lonney Tower was situated in the undesirable section of town. The rich and influential fled and slowly the building was eaten alive by degradation until it was finally abandoned as a flophouse and drug den.

No one from Mooney's organization came here.

I pushed open the doors and the smell hit me like a tidal wave.

Urine, feces, body odor, and the sour stink of rotting refuse greeted me.

The cold remains of a fire pit constructed in the center of the once pristine marble floor stare up from amidst a sea of old blankets and worn articles of clothing. The vast lobby is marked by the remains of once fine silk wallpaper peeling from the damp.

"Hello?" I called out.

My words echo back to me along with a strange scraping sound.

A dark form separated from the shadows. Taller than me and with hunched shoulders and wearing a hoodie, the figure approached slowly. A shaft of light from the door illuminated a large knife held out in a manner more protective than threatening. "Get lost."

I smiled and stretched my hands out in a beseeching manner. "I'm not here to cause a problem. I just need a place to stay."

The light played over the features of a girl no more than sixteen. She was lovely, but exceedingly pale and gaunt. Bright green eyes peer out from a heavily freckled face with such suspicion I knew she had been on the streets a long time. Her clothes consisted of torn, dirty jeans and the dark hoodie stained with things I preferred not to consider.

"You got a name?" She questioned in a scratchy, low voice.

"Paolo," I blurted the alias I planned on giving Maroni's people.

She lowered the knife a little and kept far enough from my reach to be safe. Her thumb rested on the blunt edge of the blade. "Yeah right," she laughed; the sound ending in a painful hack. "You don't look like a _Paolo_ to me."

I shrugged. "What is your name?"

"Jocelyn," she retorted with a look of surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"I honestly need a place to stay."

Jocelyn tilted her head and studied me. "You seriously look like shit, dude. Did someone run you over?"

Amusement flooded me. The girl was entertaining. I smiled again. "I do look rather unkempt, I'm afraid."

She pointed at my bad foot. "Well, your clothes don't look too bad. I'm talking about your foot. You look a little messed up." Jocelyn paused. "You need an aspirin?"

"You have medicine?" I glanced around the disaster area of the lobby. "Here?"

The girl smirked and retreated a few steps. "A girl has to live. I got me some sodas and a little food. Are you hungry?"

My stomach growled and she laughed so hard her coughing sounded as though a lung were being expelled. The smile was gone from her face and she pulled her hand from her mouth; blood-laced spittle decorated her chin.

Pity wasn't an emotion I often felt or expressed; in that moment I felt it for Jocelyn. I'm not a medical expert by any means, but I suspected the girl had a severe lung ailment. I cleared my throat. "How do you know I won't kill you and take your supplies?"

Jocelyn blinked and studied me further. "I don't, Paolo. How do you know I don't have a gun or someone hiding around here?"

"Point taken," I conceded. "I am getting hungry."

"Thought so after hearing your guts screaming like that." Jocelyn gestured with the knife. "Follow me."

She led me down a long, dark passage full of trash and less savory items. I carefully picked my way through for fear of falling and injuring my body further. Jocelyn pushed open a large, steel-reinforced door and waited for me to enter.

The room was large and imposing – it was the former manager's apartment I suspected.

Jocelyn quickly shut the door and locked it. "Aspirin?"

I nodded and studied the area in silence. The dark wood paneling sported patches of mold and the carpet was threadbare, but otherwise the room was fairly clean. An old sofa took up a corner near boarded up windows; the piece was an antique and needed to be reupholstered desperately. A long, battered table was covered with a bank of burning candles that lent the room a surprising amount of light.

The girl had disappeared through a door across the room. She returned in short order with a bottle of aspirin in one hand and an ice cold can of cola in the other. Jocelyn set the items on the edge of the table and quickly backed away.

She didn't trust me… she was a smart girl.

I looked around the room one more time before facing her. "How do you manage refrigeration?"

"I have a cooler with ice in the kitchen." Jocelyn chewed at her thumb nail. "I have running water though."

Shock flooded me.

She grinned at the expression on my face. "My father was a plumber."

I opened my mouth and Jocelyn scowled. "He's dead and I don't want to talk about it."

"Fine," I took a few aspirin and opened the soda; drinking greedily.

She walked to the door leading to the apartment's inner rooms. "I'll be back in a minute. If Rachel shows up, just sit down and zip it. She's the nervous type."

I drained the cola and crossed the room to the sofa. A draft was seeping through the window that even with my layers of pilfered clothing I still felt keenly. I frowned at the olive-colored material before sitting. The moment I took pressure off my leg, relief flowed through me.

Fish Mooney was going to die… oh yes she was.

* * *

><p>Rachel was as different from Jocelyn as day from night. She was petite and of Asian extraction with the exotic beauty of a small China doll. Night dark hair spilled around her shoulders and her jet eyes were filled with more suspicion than Jocelyn had presented.<p>

It was clear she was a few years older and much tougher than her friend.

Rachel also carried a gun. Under the fleece lined jean jacket she sported was a shoulder holster and a very large revolver. She had come in a few hours after my initial acquaintance with Jocelyn carrying bags of takeout.

A look of exasperation crossed her face when she finished locking up after herself. "Who the hell are you?"

"Paolo." I managed a smile.

She pointed at me; a look of extreme seriousness on her face. "Yeah, well don't get too comfy _Paolo_. I need to have a word with my girl about bringing home strays." She hesitated in the doorway to the back. "Are you hungry?"

I nodded. The beef jerky Jocelyn gave me earlier was just a memory.

Rachel stared at me a moment longer before disappearing with the delightful smelling takeout. A door slammed somewhere in the bowels of the apartment. Two voices echoed through the air ducts above me.

Cocking my head, I listened.

"_Girl, you need to stop being so compassionate. I told you bringing home strangers can get you killed."_

Jocelyn's voice sounded tired. _"Paolo's okay. He's awful polite and he hasn't tried anything. It looks like his leg got fucked up big time. We can't just leave him in the lobby. You know what will happen once it gets dark."_

I wondered about my safety staying in an abandoned building; attempting a homeless shelter could prove fatal. Often the mob employed the unfortunate as snitches and spies. A shank in the back while sleeping would be most unpleasant.

Rachel sounded disgusted. _"Fine, but he sleeps in the living room on the couch. I'll get him a blanket and pillows."_

Keeping my face neutral was quite the task when Rachel burst from the back with her arms laden with blankets and pillows – all of which were surprisingly clean. She dumped them on the end of the sofa and crossed her arms over her chest.

"You can stay here until you get on your feet," she stated. "The couch is comfortable and we have running water. During the day you make yourself scarce so Jocelyn can get her rest. Get it?"

"Yes," I nodded quickly. "I'm really quite grateful, I have nowhere to go." Tentatively, I approached the subject which most interested me. "What is wrong with Jocelyn?"

Rachel's face was a map of emotion: fear, anger, and deep sadness. She chose her words carefully. "The doctor at the clinic down the street doesn't know. They need to run tests and we clearly don't have enough money for that."

I tucked away the knowledge. These girls could prove very helpful to me in the future. Loyalty, I discovered while working for the mob, could be purchased for the right price. Now I knew the price for Jocelyn and Rachel's loyalty: medical care. In Gotham, unlike many other US cities, free clinics often weren't free at all. Corruption was rampant on every level of society here.

"I'm sorry," I offered.

She gave me a curt nod, but I caught the tears in her eyes. "Thanks. Come on before the food gets cold. I got some Thai. Do you like curry?"

I was quiet and simply nodded as she led me past the intriguing doorway into a large kitchen. Again, everything was shockingly clean despite being old and abandoned. A rickety looking table with matching chairs sat to the side. Large candles were grouped together in old plates around the room; like the living room the windows were boarded up.

A huge cooler sat on a counter and Jocelyn was pulling out cold cans of cola.

She gave me a brief smile before pointing at the table. "Take a load off, dude."

I sat and Rachel shoved a plate of curry under my nose. "I'm most appreciative of your help, ladies."

Suddenly Rachel was snorting with laughter and Jocelyn was wearing a grin not unlike that of the Cheshire Cat.

Confused, I looked from one girl to the other. "What is the source of your amusement?"

Jocelyn had pulled the hood from her head and revealed a short mane of deep gold curls. She reminded me, oddly, of a blonde teenage Orphan Annie. "You called us ladies, it's just funny."

"But you are ladies," I countered. "I can see the two of you have great potential to rise above your current circumstances."

"Do tell," Rachel joked as she sat across from me.

I stared at my dish for a moment before looking at each of them in turn. "How long have you been living here under these conditions?"

Jocelyn handed Rachel a can of soda. "Three years."

"I assume the food and any money you scrape together are not gained by legal means."

Rachel smirked. "Hardly."

I leaned forward. "I could help you ladies. I will be applying soon for work with Mr. Maroni. Once I am gainfully employed, I will need assistants of a _loyal_ nature."

Jocelyn and Rachel looked at one another with expressions I could not read but which spoke volumes to one another. Finally Jocelyn shrugged and began preparing a plate for herself.

Rachel tapped her plastic fork against the Styrofoam plate in front of her. "And what would you expect us to do?"

I smiled and began to eat.


	12. Chapter 12

**Thanks to Lady Ravanna, Franny C, Dreamweaver74, lulu2613, Dragonknight4000, FuchsiaGrasshopper, Aaron, FOREVERMORE, and Jotunheim Storm. I appreciate you all for your support and reviewing.**

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><p>My knuckles were seeping blood as I pulled off the tape. Breathing felt like I was inhaling flames. Sweat-drenched and frizzy-haired from the workout, I leaned against the wall and stared at the still swinging punching bag.<p>

Anger and rage were my constant companions since quitting the GCPD.

Frustration was coming in a distant third.

I had been out of work for an entire week. I needed to make a plan for finding a job. Money had a habit of being eaten up quickly in Gotham. The only bad part was the fact I couldn't use the GCPD for a reference.

Wiping a hand over my eyes, I sighed.

"Poor Emily," a lilting Irish brogue teased. "Throwing away your career over a snitch, I'm disappointed."

I opened my eyes to find a tall, older man in his late fifties with weathered features and intense sapphire eyes staring down at me. He possessed a nose broken one too many times and high, rugged cheekbones. His wavy dark hair was perfectly combed and his Armani suit was flawless.

A groan was torn from my throat. "God is punishing me."

He flashed a broad grin at me. "Now, now," he chastised with a chuckle. "You have had a rough few days, I'll grant you, but that is no way to greet family."

"We're not related, Mr. Riley."

Sean Riley laughed. "Darling, all the Irish are brothers and sisters. Martin surely was lacking in teaching you about our people."

I straightened and noticed three well-dressed and armed men flanking the front door of the gym. I shook my head. "With all due respect, Mr. Riley, why are you here?"

He assumed an innocent air – which made him seem all the more a guilty devil. "A wee bird told me you quit your job. I have come to help you with your unemployment issues."

"Did my mother tell you I quit the GCPD?" My mother had left for Baltimore three days earlier, but I wouldn't put the move past her.

Riley snorted. "Hardly, lass," he turned deathly serious eyes to mine. "Do you honestly believe I lack sources inside the GCPD?"

I pushed past him. "I honestly hoped you did."

He followed me at a leisurely pace. "I admit I'm a bit hurt at your displeasure. I had hoped you and I would be friends."

Turning, I gazed somberly at him. "My father was an honest man."

Sean Riley's expression turned sober. "Truer words have never been spoken. Why do you think he had such a bad end, lass?"

Pain flared behind my breastbone. I suppressed it and managed a neutral expression. "You know what happened to him."

He gave me a nod. "I do."

"What do you want from me?"

Sean looked uncomfortable. "My business is best conducted behind closed doors."

We were surrounded by people working out and I realized quickly that speaking so openly was a bad idea.

"Where do you want to meet?" I asked.

He smiled broadly. "I believe my car is available and I would be happy to see the daughter of my friend get home safely."

I acquiesced.

_If only I hadn't…_

* * *

><p>Sean Riley waited until the car pulled into traffic before pulling his wallet from the interior pocket of his jacket. He plucked out a small photograph and handed it to me. "This is my daughter, Peyton."<p>

I leaned forward and took the proffered picture.

Peyton Riley was the picture of an angel – long golden hair, large, intelligent crystal blue eyes, and flawless features. She was the most beautiful little girl I had ever seen in my life. Perhaps eight years old and dressed in a frilly rose-colored tutu in a classic ballerina pose, Peyton seemed to be filled with the joy that only the very young know.

"She's beautiful," I remarked before handing the picture back to him.

He returned the photo to his wallet; a slight, sentimental smile on his face. "Peyton is as innocent and sweet as she is lovely. The combination is rare here in Gotham and I intend to see it stays that way. My work, as I'm sure you know, has not always been strictly legal." The smile died. "I have received certain threats from unknown individuals threatening my daughter's safety. The job I'm offering is as a bodyguard for my daughter – nothing more, nothing less."

I looked out the window as my mind turned. I _needed_ to be employed. Looking back, I searched his face for any sign of dishonesty. "Mr. Riley, are you telling me I would never be involved in your other business?"

Sean nodded. "Darling, you have my word."

"I need some time to think about all of this," I retorted.

He smiled slowly. "I will send a car to pick you up tomorrow morning around nine. Perhaps if you met Peyton it may be helpful to you."

I agreed.

* * *

><p>A major perk of not working for the GCPD was the shedding of my business suits, which I had always hated with a passion. Instead I dressed in dark wash jeans and an emerald turtleneck before pulling out my caramel-colored pea coat. Fashion had never been a deep interest of mine and I certainly wasn't going all out for Sean Riley.<p>

To my surprise, I found that Riley didn't live in East Gotham as most of the affluent did. Instead, he had a large rambling brick colonial smack dab in the center of the Irish mob's territory. A huge wrought-iron fence rose around the elegant older home and cordoned off a piece of property as large as a city block.

Towering old oaks cast long shadows over the still green lawn. Plantings had faded leaving only the hydrangeas still clinging to life as winter fast approached.

The car pulled up the circular drive almost to the door. I waited for the driver to emerge and open my door.

Sean Riley was standing with his security on the steps leading up to his home.

He greeted me with a hug to my surprise. "Emily, I'm so delighted you kept our appointment."

"Ah, you doubted me," I smiled as he led me inside.

The house was larger than I first thought. The foyer boasted gleaming hardwood floors and a large, scrolling staircase. Three doors lined both walls and he led me to the third door on the left. I found myself in a large den reminiscent of an old-fashioned office complete with full bookshelves lining the walls, mahogany furniture, and leather wing back chairs facing Riley's desk.

He seated himself and indicated I should do the same. "Forgive me, but I did doubt you would come. You seemed quite put out seeing me yesterday evening. My apologies, I simply felt compelled to seek out your services."

I relaxed a little. "Why me, Mr. Riley? There are dozens of highly qualified security experts for hire here in Gotham. I think you might be better off with one of them to be honest."

Riley chuckled. "My daughter, Emily, means more to me than life itself. You have excellent qualifications for the job – you are a crack shot according to my source and I hear tell that you handled one of Fish Mooney's men very well indeed." Before I could say a word, he continued on. "You are educated and you have contacts on the police force should you need to speak to the GCPD. Better still, your father was a good man and your mother a good woman – I don't believe the apple fell far from the tree."

The Irish were known for their gift of gab and persuasion. I was not about to be outwitted.

"Again, not to be rude, but I will not be asked to participate in any of your business activities. I am solely here to care for Peyton as her bodyguard. Is this correct?"

Sean Riley inclined his dark head in my direction. "You have my word, Emily. Shall we talk terms?"

I nodded.

He picked up a sheet of paper and slid it across the desk toward me. "I think you will find the terms to be satisfactory."

My eyes grew wide as I picked up the paper and read. "You are offering me eighty thousand dollars a year?"

"Yes, along with dental and health insurance. I am only offering you a week of vacation but I have supplemented the lack of time off with generous yearly bonuses. Also, you will have the weekends to yourself as Peyton and I spend that time together."

The first bonus was nearly ten grand. I almost passed out.

"This is beyond generous," I answered.

He looked pleased. "So are you accepting the job?"

"Shouldn't I meet Peyton first? She may not like me."

Riley laughed. "I doubt there will be a problem. Peyton has never met anyone she hasn't liked. I try to teach her discretion but she's too young yet to understand people can be cruel or dangerous." His aspect darkened. "Let her be a child as long as possible; there is enough time later for her to become jaded like the rest of us."

I remained silent.

He led me from the den to the stairs and up to a long hallway dominated by several doors. Riley headed toward the right until he reached the door at the end of the hall. Inside was a huge bedroom painted not in pink as I anticipated, but pale lilac. A large bow window complete with satin-covered window seat looked over a huge backyard with a pool and manicured gardens that had died back with the fall weather.

The canopy bed in the center of the room was swathed in sparkly dark purple netting. A toy chest was off to the side and there were two large bureaus in startling white. The ceiling was studded with what appeared to be tiny lights mimicking stars and one wall was decorated with a large scale mural of butterflies.

The room was so unabashedly girly, I felt almost masculine standing there.

In the center of the bed was the same little girl from Riley's picture. She was seated cross-legged with a book in her lap and her forehead deeply knotted in concentration. Peyton Riley had the look of a cherub about her. I admit I was awed to be in the presence of someone not up to their armpits in crime or corruption.

"Peyton," Riley called softly. "I have brought Emily to meet you."

She looked up and met my gaze fearlessly. Pushing the book from her lap, she rolled out of the bed and approached with her hand extended. "Hello, I'm pleased to meet you, Emily."

I took her tiny hand in mine and was shocked at how tiny and delicate her bones were. "Nice to meet you as well, Peyton." Releasing her, I looked around the room. "This is the best room I've ever seen. Purple is awesome."

The little girl smiled, revealing she had lost a canine tooth which only made her more adorable. "Daddy is the best. He painted this just for me and ended up with purple paint drops in his hair." At Riley's mock stern expression, Peyton quickly changed the subject. "Do you like butterflies?"

"Sure," I wasn't fibbing since I did enjoy watching them in the park. "Did your father paint the mural?"

A giggle escaped her. "No! Daddy only painted the walls. My aunt Patsy painted the mural." Peyton became serious suddenly and stared me down intently. "Do you like to read?"

I nodded. "I love books."

"Oh good," Peyton rushed to the bed and retrieved the book she set aside. Holding it up proudly, she presented the volume for my inspection. "Have you ever read this?"

Shock exploded in my gut like a hand grenade as my eyes drank in the cover.

_Stephen Hawking's Guide to the Universe._

"Ah," I fumbled and Peyton's eyes narrowed. "I have to be honest and tell you physics is not my idea of a good time."

Peyton looked up at Riley with confusion twisting her small face. "I thought you said this lady was smart, Daddy?"

I was astonished and couldn't have defended my intellect at the moment if life depended on it.

Sean shook his head. "We talked about this, Peyton. Not everyone is as intelligent as you are and most people don't read physics for fun. I think you need to give Emily a fair shake."

Peyton's lips screwed into an unhappy frown as she looked to me. "Do you like Shakespeare?"

"Yes."

"What about Ovid and Homer?"

"Marginal."

Peyton seemed shocked by the pronouncement. "Have you at least read the works of Jane Austen?"

I smiled. "I love Jane Austen."

The little girl heaved a sigh. "Thank goodness! At least I have some sort of conversational material. Please be aware that I don't watch television at all and I find cartoons hideous. When I'm not working on essays or homework, I like to read and visit museums. There will be no smoking or talking on your mobile phone in my presence – I dislike distractions."

"Okay," I agreed pleasantly. Hey, the kid was odd, but I liked her.

Peyton seemed pleased. "I think Emily will be fine, Daddy."

Riley gave a nod and indicated I follow him. Once the door was closed behind him, he appeared abashed. "Do forgive Peyton. She forgets the rest of us have a hard time keeping up with her."

I smirked. "What grade is she in?"

"Peyton is a junior in high school," he stated as he led me back downstairs. "She attends Excelsior Academy for exceptionally gifted students. I couldn't bear to send her to a boarding school after her mother passed."

"I'm sorry for your loss."

Riley seemed old and worn down in that moment. "Thank you. Elizabeth was a fine woman, the love of my life. When I met Elizabeth, she was a curator at the Modern Museum of Art. I was smitten the moment I looked at her." He turned in my direction and read the question in my face. "She passed from pancreatic cancer."

I nodded solemnly as he led me to the door.

He held out his hand to me. "I would like you to start tomorrow if possible."

Shaking his hand, I nodded. "I'll be here around six."

"Leon will be instructed to pick you up at 5:30 in the morning."

While Leon drove me home, I thought about what I was doing. Taking a job from Sean Riley was putting me in the mob underground; firmly planting me on the Maroni side no less. Even though I was nothing more than Peyton Riley's bodyguard, I would be seen as a soldier in the trenches. The thought was sobering. Riley might be seen as head of the Irish mob and independent, but he was one of Salvatore Maroni's dearest friends. Everyone in Gotham knew if a war started between Falcone and Maroni that Riley would side with Sal.

I should just walk away.

Where would I go? I could go live with my brother and mother in Baltimore. I could study and try to pass the bar in Maryland.

The thought was laughable.

I _needed_ to know exactly what happened to my father. Riley was the key. Besides, I had a little unfinished business with Fish Mooney and Don Falcone. Oswald was dead and he wasn't coming back. Maybe I'm nothing but a fool because I cared about him. We only knew one another a few months… I hadn't been in love with Oswald by any means.

Why get caught up in trouble over Oswald?

I was willing to go out on a limb because he didn't deserve what was done to him. Granted, I could be wrong and perhaps he did deserve it, but I didn't think so. Oswald made me feel again when I had thought that part of me was dead.

He was worth a great deal to me.

* * *

><p><em>The room was strange to me yet achingly familiar, hewn from marble with a soaring ceiling painted with a fresco of angels. Large windows looked out over the glittering lights of Gotham puncturing the darkness like thousands of stars. A huge bed decorated in black satin dominated one wall, but I was far more interested in the roaring fireplace and the white fur rug strewn in front of it.<em>

_I was so cold…_

_The heat was pleasurable as I held out my hands to the snapping flames._

_A voice was in my ear, one I knew too well. "You look lovely," Oswald breathed. His body was throwing almost as much warmth as the fire. "I watched you all night. You have no idea all the naughty thoughts running through my mind."_

_I moaned as he ran his forefinger down the back of my neck. "Oswald…"_

_He pushed aside my hair and kissed the side of my throat; his lips like icy fire. Turning me with his slim hands, Oswald's beautiful cerulean eyes burned their way down my body and back up again. He was in just his shirtsleeves and pants with his tie removed. There was something raw and devastatingly sexy about seeing him in such a casual state._

"_Kiss me," he pleaded, his lips just a breath from mine._

_I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his. He tasted of expensive wine and caviar. Threading my hands through his short hair, I tugged him closer. Oswald groaned low in his throat and sank to his knees. I followed him down, never taking my mouth from his. Our knees landed in the plush fur; his hands grasping my waist like he was drowning._

_The hard bulge against my belly made me wet. I whimper and begin fumbling with the buttons on his shirt until his chest is bare. Breaking my mouth from his, I run my hands over the snowy expanse of hairless skin covering etched muscle and bone. Oswald may be thin, but he is all lean muscle beneath his clothes._

_Oswald is watching me from beneath hooded eyes as I caress him. A muscle works in his jaw but he remains stock still. I press my mouth to the base of his throat and he releases a soft moan. His hands are thrust into my hair as I trail my tongue across his skin; tasting salt and the faint hint of rosemary._

"_Emily," he hisses as my mouth closes over his flat, pebbled nipple._

_My tongue teases him and his breathing is becoming ragged. I want him more than I've ever wanted anyone – I need Oswald in me._

_A banging at the door draws a sharp sigh from Oswald. "Damn."_

_My head is spinning as I look up at him._

_His lips are red and swollen from our activities and his pupils are wide; a blush staining his cheekbones. He is as aroused as I am and his irritation is evident. Oswald pulls away and begins buttoning up his shirt. "You have my sincere apologies for the interruption." The banging continues unabated and his expression becomes frighteningly dark. "I will be with you momentarily!" He shouts and the hammering ceases._

_Oswald is gentle as he cups my cheek. "Go into the den for a moment, my sweet. I will come to you as quickly as possible."_

_I pull my robe more tightly closed as I stand. He follows quickly, shoving his shirt down into his pants._

_Smiling, he adjusts his hair before heading toward the door as I cross the room in the opposite direction to another door…_

I wake breathing hard, bathed in sweat, and painfully aroused. "What the hell?" I _**never**_ have sex dreams and especially sex dreams involving dead men. Angry, I punch the pillow beside me and roll onto my back to stare at the ceiling.

My clock is flashing 4am so there is virtually no possibility of getting back to sleep.

I shake my head and feel tears burning in my eyes. "Damn you, Oswald."


	13. Chapter 13

**Thanks to: lulu2613, Franny C, FuchsiaGrasshopper, Aaron, Guest, Cranberries, Jotunheim Storm, Dragonknight4000, FOREVERMORE. I appreciate you taking the time to review.**

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><p>Obtaining a job with Sal Maroni was a bit harder than I had initially thought. I had to finagle my way from dishwasher to restaurant manager through a series of complicated moves which included setting up a group of former Falcone associates to rob the place. Every Wednesday Maroni's payments from his cappos came to the restaurant to be counted in the room behind the kitchen.<p>

After a word in the ears of the right people, I now had two bags stuffed with more than fifty thousand dollars apiece.

Staring down at the dead men littering the floor of the abandoned apartment I had chosen, I was hard pressed not to snicker. One of the goons still had half a cyanide laced cannoli between his lips. The boys used to laugh at me along with Gilzean; they had found themselves on the outs with the Don when they screwed up a bank robbery and killed a young pregnant woman.

Don Falcone disliked bloodshed involving children and those with child.

Desperation had driven the trio straight into my waiting arms.

I shut the door and began the long walk back to Lonney Tower. I arrived just before dark and headed straight for Rachel and Jocelyn's apartment. The three of us carefully blockaded and locked the door after I dropped the bags on the sofa.

At night, the lobby of the abandoned building was filled with not just the homeless but gang members and all sorts of ruffians.

Jocelyn rested her hands on her thin hips. "What did you bring home with you?"

I couldn't help but smile. "The answer to our prayers is in those bags, ladies." I crossed the room and pulled out a fistful of cash. "I think you two finally have enough money for a decent doctor."

Rachel stared at me; her eyes wide with shock. "Are you serious?"

I nodded. "Deathly." Drawing out ten thousand dollars, I handed the stacks of cash to Rachel. "You ladies swore loyalty to me and I intend on paying my people well. There is nothing worse than working for a cheapskate."

Jocelyn started crying as Rachel hugged her tight. Soon the pair was laughing and dancing around the room trailing tens and twenties as they went. When they came to a stop, the girls were leaning against one another.

"Thank you," Jocelyn managed.

I nodded solemnly. "I'm happy to help. Tomorrow I will rent you ladies a decent apartment. I will need your services soon, but you both have to be healthy. For now, I want you to keep an eye on the money until I can move it to a more appropriate and secure place."

Rachel's face was all seriousness. "You can trust us. We'll keep a real good eye on it."

Smiling, I rested my hands behind my back. "I know you will. What is that delicious smell?"

Jocelyn smirked. "Rachel scored barbecue and two hundred bucks."

_Small potatoes, but it shows initiative_, I thought as I followed them into the kitchen.

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><p>The restaurant was fairly quiet for a Friday when I reported to work. There was usually a mid-day rush but as I studied the reservation book, I was surprised to find only one entry: <em>Sean Riley and party.<em>

Calling over the hostess, Jeanine, I showed her the book. "Is this a mistake?"

She shook her honey-colored head. "No sir, Mr. Maroni always makes sure the restaurant is clear when his friend comes for lunch. Usually Mr. Riley comes every other Friday with his daughter."

"Thank you," I dismissed Jeanine back to her post before heading to the kitchen.

As restaurant manager, I had a great deal of work and my own, very small, office in the back. I knew Sean Riley was the head of the Irish mob and a celebrated friend of Mr. Maroni, but I had no idea that they lunched together like a pair of old society ladies.

Once Riley arrived, I would casually go into the dining room and check on the party. My true aim was to listen in, but spying was best completed with pleasantry. Until then, I had more than enough work waiting which needed to be done.

Less than thirty minutes into my paperwork, the door to my office was thrown open and the rotund figure of Sal Maroni filled the space. He was wearing a jolly smile and began clapping his hands together. "Come on, get up! I'm going to introduce you to one of my friends. I want to make sure you get acquainted with Sean."

The moment I entered the dining room the world came to a dead stop.

Sound died to my ears and I froze in place.

At the center table Mr. Maroni favored was a tall, older man with dark hair and dressed in a designer suit. Danger fairly dripped from his smiling eyes. Beside him was a young girl dressed in a lovely red dress. He was stroking her lemony hair as they laughed together.

I wasn't startled by Mr. Riley or his child but instead the form lingering just behind them.

A willowy figure dressed in dark jeans with a black top and matching leather jacket. Her hair was gathered tightly back from her lovely face in ponytail. Large mirrored aviator sunglasses hid most of her features, but I would have known her anywhere.

I tried backing up – only to run smack dab into Mr. Maroni.

His beefy hands seized my shoulders in order to steady me. "Hey," Maroni laughed. "Steady as she goes or you'll end up on your ass."

Before I could protest, I was being shoved forward.

Frankie Carbone, Maroni's lieutenant, was talking to _her._ He was laughing and leaning into her personal space, far too intimately for my liking. A slight smile pushed the corners of her lips up. Turning toward the door, she crossed her arms across her chest and listened to Carbone.

My eyes narrowed.

I hadn't even been in the grave two weeks and she was laughing it up with Carbone? If I wished to pursue the logical train of thought – as far as she knew Oswald Cobblepot was dead. Jealousy is an ugly emotion not unlike a knife to the gut. Logic was out the door and raw emotion was bubbling to the surface.

Suddenly Maroni's arm was around my shoulders; cutting off my fantasy of spattering Carbone's brains all over the scarlet carpet.

"Sean, please meet my newest manager, Paolo."

Mr. Riley turned those brilliant, cold blue eyes on me. He stared at me hard for a long time before finally smiling. "I'm pleased to meet you, Paolo." He had a true Irish accent that made his words ring with a near musical quality. "Sal, what happened to that other fellow?"

Maroni frowned. "That subject is probably not best to be discussed in front of our young guest."

The little girl smiled revealing she had lost a canine tooth. "Uncle Sal, you are a very silly man."

I had never been partial to children, but I had to admit I found the girl amusing. _'Perceptive,'_ I thought with a mental smirk.

Maroni released me so suddenly I nearly fell. He scooped up the little girl and swung her around before holding her close to his chest. He pressed a smacking kiss against her cheek. "Silly? I'll tickle you senseless and then we'll see who's silly around here!" His fingers attacked her ribs drawing mad giggles from his prisoner. "Take that!"

She tried to escape by wiggling like a worm. "Uncle Sal! Stop, stop!"

I took a step back and instantly Mr. Riley's sharp gaze turned to me.

He frowned. "Have I seen you somewhere before, lad?"

I was about to sputter the smoothest lie I could under the circumstances when Maroni interrupted by setting the little girl down.

"Paolo, this young lady is Miss Peyton Riley and you will be seeing her every few weeks." Maroni's dark eyes slid to the little girl. "Sweetheart, tell Paolo what your most favorite dessert in the world is."

"Tiramisu!" She cried happily.

Maroni smirked at Riley. "This kid is half Italian, I swear on my mother's grave."

"You wish," Mr. Riley retorted. "Do us all a favor Sal and drop Dorothy like a hot potato. Get married to a good girl and have some children of your own. You make so much of Peyton she's becoming quite incorrigible."

"Daddy," Peyton pronounced with greatly dignity. "I am _not_ incorrigible as that would indicate I am a hopeless case and nothing is farther from the truth. You should have stated I'm spoiled by Uncle Sal which is both true and a better analogy."

I took another step back only to have Maroni pull me forward again. Frustration was clawing at my insides. I needed to get as far away from _her_ as possible. The moment she turned around, my cover was going to be blown.

"Is this kid funny or what?" Maroni asked me with a laugh.

"Oh yes," I stated with a forced chuckle. "Miss Riley is very droll."

The child tugged at my suit jacket. "Can you bring me a Shirley Temple with two cherries?"

Escape was at hand! I had the perfect excuse to leave. "Right away, Miss Riley." I took a step to vacate the scene but Peyton Riley was too quick.

She turned and shouted. "Emily, do you want a drink?"

My stomach liquefied and my intestines gurgled in warning.

Emily turned toward us. Sal and I were reflected in the mirrored lenses of her sunglasses. Her red lips paled along with the rest of her face as her mouth struggled to form words. She collapsed slowly; falling into a heap at Carbone's feet with a soft _thunk_.

Riley and Maroni went to stand over Emily.

"Is she sick?"

"No," Riley answered as he rested his palm against her forehead. "She's had a great deal of stress as of late."

Peyton looked up at me with shrewd eyes. "You know her."

I shook my head in denial.

"No one likes a fibber," Peyton informed me in a strangely calm voice. "I won't tell."

Maroni stood and hooked his finger in the _come hither_ gesture. "Paolo, help Frankie put this girl in the back room. Just lay her out on the table and stick a seat cushion under her head for now. Maybe a little rest will perk her up." He rested his hands on his hips. "She's too thin. I think she needs a big bowl of Spaghetti Bolognese."

Riley snorted. "You think everyone needs to eat more you fat pig."

To my shock, Maroni laughed like his friend's insult was the funniest thing he ever heard.

I lifted Emily under the arms; her head was lolling on my shoulder. Carbone grabbed her by the ankles and we carried her to the back room. We placed her carefully on the long table. I pulled a cushion from a nearby chair and positioned it under her neck.

Frankie Carbone stared hard at me. "I have to say, Penguin, you are one freaky little shit to have an effect like that on a woman like her. Do you two know each other?"

I shook my head. "N-no."

He looked first at Emily's unconscious form and then at me. "Just remember, Sal may be all sunshine and roses, but I'm not Sal. If I find out you are lying, I'll cut your throat."

Perhaps that was the moment I decided Frankie Carbone had to go, but if I were to be truthful I made up my mind watching him flirt with Emily.

Tilting my head down subserviently, I waited for him to leave.

The moment he was gone, I leaned over her. My hand was shaking as I brushed her cheek. She felt _so_ soft; I had to bite back a moan. Pressing my lips against her ear, I whispered: "I'm sorry, Emily. Rest now and I'll come back to you later."

I dared not tarry long. Peyton asked me for a Shirley Temple and I needed to gather intelligence that might prove useful to Don Falcone.

* * *

><p>Once Peyton was served her drink and it became blatantly obvious that the only conversation taking place was of the personal variety, I excused myself. The waiter and the hostess were more than competent to deal with the small group. Carbone was seated at the table with the others and was too busy stuffing his face with lasagna to care when I left.<p>

I locked the door behind me and leaned up against it.

Emily was sitting facing the far wall; her arms bracing her weight against the hard table. Her legs were dangling, uselessly, and her head was bowed. The aviator glasses were perched close to Emily's hip on the table top.

The air was thick with despair.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled. "I had plans to come see you in a few weeks."

She was utterly silent.

I made my around the table slowly until I was facing her. My gut was filled with knots when her head tilted and our eyes met.

Emily was white as death; her face a mask of tears. Her dark eyes were red-rimmed and filled with misery as she looked at me. Her lower lip trembled. "You _bastard_!" She hissed. "Why didn't you at least call me?"

The sorrow in her expression mingled freely with white hot anger.

I swallowed the knot in my throat. "Emily, I needed to appear dead…"

She pushed to her feet and my stomach sank. "Oswald," she whispered as she slammed a hand against the wall on either side of my head. I was trapped in place. "I found out that freaking cop shot you and I kicked his ass – I quit my job over you! I thought they _killed_ you."

Her lips were pulled back in a feral snarl as she brought her face close to mine. "Do you have any _fucking_ idea how I _felt _thinking you had been murdered?"

I often downplayed my own physical strength, but I knew I was no match for her if she attacked me.

My eyes scanned her face as I laid my hand against her jaw. "Emily, I'm so sorry…"

The first blow took me by surprise. My left cheek was burning like fire where she had slapped me with all her strength. I flexed my jaw when she delivered a stinging smack to my right cheek. I barely had time to draw in a breath when she grabbed hold of my jacket lapels and buried her face in my neck.

"Oswald," Emily released like a sigh. "Please don't ever do something like this to me again."

She smelled sweet like vanilla and sugar-laced coffee. My arms instinctively wrapped around her shoulders. "Never," I promised vehemently. "Don't be angry with me, I couldn't bear it if you hated me."

"I don't hate you," her words were mashed against my skin. "I can't even stay angry with you."

I pressed my lips against her temple. "Lark, I need your help."

Emily pulled back and met my eyes. "What do you need?"

"You can't admit to knowing me," I stated bluntly. "There is something going on that is very dangerous. We need to appear to be strangers for the time being."

"For how long?" Her voice was raw.

"Possibly weeks or months," I answered honestly.

Emily nodded slowly. "Okay." She trembled before pressing a kiss against my chin. "Are you saying we can't see each other at all?"

My groin pulsed in response to her low, throaty entreaty. God, I wanted her. Every base impulse I had ever suppressed over the course of my life was thrumming to life. I wanted to push her back on the table and ravage her right there.

I should have said no to her question. Seeing one another, even on the sly, was too dangerous.

"Go join the others," I instructed her in a shaky voice. "I will come to your apartment tonight."

She had a sleepy look; it was ridiculously sexy. "What time?"

"Eleven," I promised her.

Emily nodded and picked up the sunglasses. "Don't be late."

Once the door shut behind her, I wiped a hand over my face. "Oswald, you complete ninny." I was left with two burning cheeks from her slaps and my angrily throbbing sex. My knees were weak with desire. Even her aggression turned me on – had any other woman raised her hand to me, I would have despised her. Not Emily, I couldn't be angry with her. _I_ had caused her immense grief and pain. The abuse was well earned.

I managed to stand and straighten my shirt and jacket.

One had to look presentable on the job.

Leaving the back room, I returned to my office and carried on working. In the back of my mind, I began planning for Emily's extraction from the Maroni organization. She would stay put for now, but not long term. The last thing I anticipated was Emily accepting a job with Riley. Unacceptable.

Carmine Falcone could not learn of my affection for Emily. No one could. I needed to craft a plan that brought her to me and kept us together but which gave us a cover story of boss/employee rather than lovers.

Once someone discovers what you love, they can crucify you.

* * *

><p>AN: Sean and Peyton Riley are both characters from DC Comics Batman. I just wanted to warn everyone that the next chapter will include a lemon. I am working on making the scene tasteful as possible.


	14. Chapter 14

**Thanks for reviewing: lulu2613, Lady Ravanna, CeliaSingsSongs, Jotunheim Storm, LadyMaluHolmes, Franny C, Mancer, Sexyknickers, Aaron, I.C.2014, FuchsiaGrasshopper, Cee, and Guests! And to everyone who has asked, my wife is doing beautifully and my new son is just a miracle. :)**

**Note and Warning:** **This chapter is longer than usual and has graphic adult sexual situations slightly on the dark side (absolutely no violence). If a woman being the seductress and in charge bothers you, flee the scene! My wife read this chapter and I must thank her for several ideas and her approval. I am worried since this is my first time writing a lemon so be merciful on me.**

* * *

><p>Sean Riley had spent the ride back to my apartment staring out the window. He was preternaturally silent, his forefinger resting against his lower lip. Peyton sat across from me swinging her legs in a pattern only she understood. Lunch had consisted of minestrone soup for me after my collapse at Sal Maroni's restaurant.<p>

Sal Maroni had watched me with one raised eyebrow. "Mark my words, Miss Maguire. You _need_ to eat more."

The memory made me want to laugh.

The car pulled in front of my building smoothly.

I ruffled Peyton's hair. "I'll see you on Monday. Have a nice weekend and be good to your father."

She smiled broadly at me. "I will, Emily. Are we going to the Natural History museum after school?"

"Sure," I answered. "I think the exhibit is focusing on the biodiversity of Asia."

Peyton clapped her hands together happily.

I slid out of the car only to find Mr. Riley following me. "Is everything okay?"

He was scanning my face with his bright, hard eyes. "Can I ask what happened earlier?"

My face burned. "I thought that waiter… I thought I knew him." Lies were not my forte but they were flowing easily from my tongue. Disappointment flooded me. "I'm sorry for embarrassing you."

Riley reached out and caught my hand; squeezing it in a comforting gesture. He smiled and took a step back. "You didn't embarrass me, Emily. The gentleman is Sal's new restaurant manager. I'm curious who you thought he was."

I swallowed the sudden thickness in my throat. "I thought he was a young man who was assaulted several months back. I tried to get this guy to file a police report and he refused."

"Hmm," he remarked knowingly. "Well, this is Gotham after all and most people refuse to press charges."

"Unfortunately," I clarified my thought on the sorry state of affairs when it came to crime.

Riley flashed a smile exposing his perfect, brilliant white teeth. "Spoken like a true officer of the law. Enjoy your weekend."

"You as well, Mr. Riley," I replied.

He wagged his finger at me. "We've gone over this, Emily. Call me Sean." Riley was back in his car like a flash.

I waved and watched the car pull into traffic.

* * *

><p>"I can't believe the stupidity."<p>

Forcing my features into a mask of composure, I turned to Harvey Bullock. "And hello to you."

He was standing a few feet away with his hands buried in the pockets of his leather jacket. His expression was one of deep disappointment. "I thought you were smarter than this, Emily."

"What do you want?"

"Sean Riley opposes certain forces and by working for him you become an extension of his organization." Harvey reached out and flicked my nose. "Wake up and smell the manure you've stepped in before somebody kills you."

I clapped a hand over my stinging nostril. "Is that why you're here?"

Harvey turned a dull shade of red. "Don't be ridiculous. I need a favor."

My brow rose. "Great lead in to secure my help."

He rolled his eyes. "Sorry."

"Again," I inquired. "What do you want?"

"Montoya and Allen may be paying you a visit about Cobblepot. Allen came across your report when Cobblepot was assaulted. Your silence about what I told you would be greatly appreciated."

Anger bubbled up inside of me. I stepped closer to him. "Your partner murdered a man in cold blood and you watched him do it and now you two want me to uphold the blue code of silence. This is priceless, Harvey."

For the first time since I had known the man he looked scared.

"Emily," he leaned toward me and I could almost smell the desperation on him. "You have no idea how far up the food chain this goes. Please be smart about this, kiddo."

I snorted. "How flattering," I spat as I edged around him and headed for the door to my building. "I _almost_ believe you care about what happens to me."

Harvey reached out and snagged my wrist; yanking me toward him. His midnight blue eyes were filled with sparks. "Hey, I have always cared about you." His irritation was profound. "Emily, I'm going to share an uncomfortable truth with you and damn the consequences. You like to see the world through a pair of filtered glasses of your own making. Baby, those glasses are making you blind."

Oswald was alive… what would it hurt to cooperate just this once?

I missed Harvey, I missed our friendship.

A reluctant smile crossed my face. "Okay, I don't know anything about Cobblepot."

He looked thunderstruck. "Really?"

I nodded. "Yes, but with a caveat."

"Which would be what?"

"Don't bring your partner around."

Harvey nodded. "No problem – he thinks you're a little nuts anyway."

"Just a little?" I teased.

He smiled. "Maybe a lot nuts."

"I'm Peyton Riley's bodyguard," I offered. "I have nothing to do with Mr. Riley's business."

Harvey reached out and brushed a snowflake from my cheek. During our conversation the sky had opened up to release a bounty of tiny bits of frozen fluff. He let his hand fall to my shoulder. "Take care because that doesn't matter to the opposite side."

I nodded.

He seemed on the verge of saying something else, but thought better of the idea. Harvey turned his face and stepped back from me.

I watched him walk around the corner. My heart ached. I missed my friend.

* * *

><p>Practicing forgiveness on a regular basis was something I tried to do and most of the time failed miserably. Today was a good example.<p>

I told Oswald back at the restaurant I couldn't stay angry with him. To a certain extent I was telling the truth but a deeper part of me wanted just a taste of revenge. I grieved for the man, threw away my career for him because I thought he had been murdered. The entire time Oswald had been alive. He never once tried to contact me.

Maybe it would have been too late to save my job, but _if_ he had called at least I wouldn't have been crying over him… feeling like someone had burned my heart out.

A tiny part of me, one swathed in darkness and kept well-hidden from the light, was livid pissed and crying out for vengeance. Just a little taste of retribution to soothe that angry voice, nothing hard core or violent and I would be satisfied.

I spent the entire evening getting ready for Oswald's arrival. I showered, shaved my legs, trimmed my bikini line, spritzed a little Chanel No. 5, and fixed my hair so it flowed like silk over my shoulders. I picked a white satin nightgown with strategic lace cutouts which had been sitting in my drawer for nearly six years unused.

Earlier, I had run out to a particular store selling items of an adult nature and picked out exactly what I needed to exact said revenge.

White pillar candles were grouped on the table and kitchen counter to give a romantic ambiance. I wanted Oswald to be off his game, unsure of how to proceed. The bed had been decked out in clean linens and I hid a little surprise behind the pillows and attached to the headboard.

I was ready an hour before he knocked on my door.

Oswald was dressed in the same sharp suit as earlier. His eyes grew large and round as they took me in. "Y-you…" he cleared his throat. "Emily, you l-look…"

I was amused by his straining stutter. "Is something wrong with the way I'm dressed?"

He shook his head, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. His eyes were stuck to my chest as though glued to that piece of my anatomy. Oswald had never blatantly stared at my breasts before, but then they had never been peeping at him through sheer lace either.

"Come in," I stepped aside.

Oswald hesitated before moving over the threshold.

My eyes took in his limp and the way one foot seemed to point permanently out to the side. I hadn't noticed earlier in my grief and rage that he was hurt. The thought crossed my mind to abandon my plan, but I dismissed the idea as quickly as it arrived.

I closed the door and locked it.

He stood nervously; his expression one of lust and confusion as he watched me.

Approaching him, I unbuttoned his jacket. "You look nervous. Calm down, Oswald and breathe. I won't bite," my fingers rasped against the green brocade of his waistcoat. "Unless you ask me to."

I moved around him and tugged his coat off. "What happened to your leg?"

Oswald flushed a dark red. "That bitch Mooney is what happened." Upon seeing my arched brow, he looked away from me. "Forgive me; I should have refrained from gutter language." The fact he was cursing showed me just how much he hated Fish Mooney.

I hung his jacket up and returned to him. "Don't worry, I've said a lot worse in my time." My fingers trailed up to his collar. "How long are you planning on staying?"

He blinked and his eyes strayed down my satin-clad body before rising to meet my gaze once more. His pupils had grown wide and dark and his lower lip trembled. "I d-don't know. Emily," he reached out and grasped my wrists as I pulled his tie pin free. "Why?"

"You'll have to be more specific," I teased as I pulled his tie free.

Oswald studied my hands for just a moment before speaking. "Why a-are you doing this?"

I freed my hands from his loose grasp and tucked his tie and pin into his trouser pockets. Stepping closer to him, I flicked his top button open. "I missed you, Oswald." I shrugged and undid several more buttons. "I want to be with you."

"This isn't a good idea," he murmured.

I ran my fingers along the length of his jaw. "I think it is."

Oswald's forehead broke out in a sweat. "I…" He looked down; his cheeks burning. "I've never been with a woman before. You must know that."

Not only had Fish Mooney alluded to his virginity, he had as much admitted it when he told me he had never been in his shirtsleeves in front of a woman before. The thought of being the first to introduce him to sexual pleasure was enough to make my knees weak.

"Do you like me, Oswald?"

He lifted his head; surprise in the depths of his gaze. "Like you?" He echoed. "My feelings for you go far beyond mere fondness, Emily. I have no words to describe what I feel – how _strongly_ I feel about you."

Warmth spread through my chest at his words.

Oswald pulled me against him and I could feel his hard length pressing against my stomach. His eyes were everywhere on my body, his gaze hot and filled with lust. "I want to do terrible, beautiful things to you, Lark. I want the taste of you in my mouth and the smell of you in my nose." His voice lowered as he began moving us back toward the bed. "I want to hear you scream my name in ecstasy while I'm buried inside of you…"

I pressed my lips against his, cutting him off. His voice made me feel weak with desire.

He busied himself with my lips as I unbuttoned his shirt; his hands were buried in my hair. Once I reached his waistcoat, I pulled back from him. "Stay the night with me, Oswald."

Oswald nodded and allowed me to remove his waistcoat and slip the broadcloth shirt from his shoulders. He was leanly built, all muscle and skin stretched over bone. His skin was snow white and hairless. His cheeks and ears grew red as I let my eyes drift over his naked chest and arms.

I pressed an open-mouthed kiss over his chest as my hands reached for his belt buckle.

He groaned low in his throat, his head falling back, as my fingers brushed against his hardness. His fingers tangled in my hair while I loosened his belt. The look on his face was one of near pain as my hand descended beneath the waistband of his trousers and boxer shorts.

"Lark," he forced from between gritted teeth as my fingers closed around his hard length.

I licked one pebbled nipple as I stroked his smooth, velvety cock.

Oswald's body shook and he seemed to choke as I touched him. He was pulling at my hair, tugging violently when I nibbled at his other nipple. He was surprisingly quiet under my ministrations; only the occasional groan escaping his throat.

The expressions he made were another story – erotic, sensual, and almost pained.

I pulled back and shoved his pants and boxers down; they pooled around his ankles.

Kissing his jaw, I stroked his back. "Does it still hurt?"

Oswald looked at his damaged foot before meeting my eyes. "Only when I walk for a long time or I'm on my feet for extended periods."

Good to know. I may have wanted a teeny bit of revenge, but hurting him wasn't part of the deal.

"Sit down," I whispered, gently pushing him back.

He fell back against the bed; his legs sprawled. I sank between his knees, enjoying the quick rise and fall of his smooth chest as he watched me. He was so hard his cock was resting against the flat expanse of his belly.

I pulled off his shoes careful not to hurt his foot; swiftly removing his socks, trousers, and boxers.

Kneeling, I gently raked my fingernails up and down his thighs.

Oswald propped himself on his elbows and watched me with hunger in his eyes. "You look so beautiful…"

Leaning forward, I ran my tongue along the ridge of his sex.

He fell back against the bed, panting. His eyes had taken on a glassy look that made me wet and achy. His hands clenched my scalp as I opened my mouth and suckled the tip of him. Again and again I darted my tongue against the hole before teasing the sensitive underside of his cock.

"Please," Oswald moaned. "Please stop…" He was red-faced and sweaty.

I rubbed my cheek against his thigh. "Do you need a break?"

He nodded. "Yes, before I humiliate myself."

I moved up on the bed between his legs and ushered him back until he was resting against the pillows. Before he could react, I snapped the handcuffs around his wrists. His arms were stretched wide across the bed leaving him deliciously vulnerable to my every whim.

Oswald tugged at the restraints. "Emily, what are you doing?"

I cupped the heavy weight of his testicles in my palm and began to caress them softly. "Whatever I want," I leaned forward and kissed his stomach. "I'm going to show you just how frustrated and powerless I felt while you were gone."

His cerulean eyes widened and his struggles began in earnest; the steel cuffs clanging against the iron bedposts echoed throughout the large room. Oswald cast an angry look in my direction as I pulled out a small circle of black rubber from beneath one pillow.

"Do you know what this is?"

He stared at it for a full minute before shaking his head.

"A cock ring," I replied softly. "I'm going to keep you frustrated and wanting for a very long time, Oswald."

"When I get out of the cuffs…" he left the threat unfinished as he yanked his arms wildly.

I ran the pad of my forefinger up and down the underside of his raging erection; he had grown firmer since I had slapped on the restraints. "Be good," I advised him softly as I caressed him. "We both know you like this."

His eyes were burning with anger and lust as he dropped back against the pillows.

I slowly worked the rubber ringlet over his head and down to the base of his cock; being careful not to pinch or hurt him. Once the ring was fitted snugly in place, I leaned over him. "Oswald," I whispered before nipping his throat.

He released a hiss.

My mouth trailed down his chest and stomach before I kissed his sex and pulled back.

Oswald was watching me from beneath hooded eyes, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

I slowly pulled up the hem of my nightgown until it was bunched around my thighs. "Do you want it on or off?"

He was silent for a long time as though having an internal debate. "Take it off."

The satin whispered as I drew it over my head and let the fabric fall over the side of the bed. Oswald let his eyes roam over me with more intimacy than any touch could convey. He was studying my body eagerly, hungrily.

"Take off the cuffs," he implored. "Please, I want to touch you." Oswald's hands flexed almost involuntarily as he spoke.

Ignoring him, I lowered my mouth to his sex. I slowly let his straining sex surge between my lips as I lowered my head. He was watching me, his mouth falling open. Up and down, up and down I went with precise timing.

"I'm at your mercy." Oswald babbled; a hint of desperation in his voice. "I'll be good… please."

I leaned back and looked at him. The muscles of his arms, shoulders, and chest strained. His throat tightened, his pulse fluttering in his temple.

"Are you enjoying this?" he asked. "Treating me so cruelly?"

"Now you know how frustrated I was thinking you were dead."

Oswald shook his head frantically. "I was trying to keep you safe too. Emily, you have no idea what is happening. A war is coming to Gotham – bloody, vicious, and terrible."

I moved beside him, leaned over his hips, and blew hotly against his cock.

Twitching, Oswald drew in a lungful of air.

I took him all the way into my mouth. Slowly and deliberately, I took my time with him. Oswald's breathing quickened. As soon as I felt him twitch against my tongue, I pulled my mouth off him.

He sighed and stared at me with lust-filled eyes.

Kissing his mouth, I licked his lower lip. He teased my tongue with his. Sinking against Oswald's chest, I took his nipple into my mouth and sucked it until a low moan grew in his throat. The sound tempted me to release him from the cuffs. I slid down his body, my hard nipples dragging against his skin driving us both mad in the process.

"Forgive me," Oswald moaned. "I'm sorry."

"Good," I took him into my mouth again.

"Lark!" He hissed.

I kissed his head and licked his shaft again and again. He watched with a look of increasing lust and just the barest hint of anger. The play was sweetly excruciating for him, from the look in his eyes. I made sure to keep a gentle touch with only an occasional harder pull.

Oswald beat his head against the pillows, his eyes nearly black with lust and rage. "You have no idea what you are doing." He squirmed under my attention. "I-it feels so good it hurts."

He wanted to spend so badly and he couldn't.

The ring at the base of his sex wouldn't give him the release he was growing desperate for. I could hear Oswald yanking the cuffs, trying to free himself. He was inexperienced and I could tell Oswald wasn't sure what to do. He thrust his hips up and watched his sex disappear between my lips. His mouth fell open and he released a long, sexy groan.

Finally, he jerked against the cuffs with true violence and growled angrily. "Release me, Lark. Now."

I pulled away from him and smiled. "Beg."

He stared at me unblinking for several seconds. "Please."

"I think you need to show more sincerity." I returned my attention to his manhood.

"Please, oh god please…" He gulped.

I raised my head and released him from between my lips. He was hard, standing straight up, and painfully swollen. I crawled back onto his lap and lowered my hips over his.

"Soon," I promised him. "Do you want me to stop?"

Oswald's hair was damp and his upper lip glistened with a thin layer of sweat. He looked at me with naked honesty in his eyes. "No. I just need to touch you…"

I slid over him and his cock stretched me slowly. He thrust his hips upward, driving himself deep inside me, and for a man with no experience, he was hitting all the right spots.

Oswald was red-faced, his breathing irregular. He was jerking against the cuffs so that his wrists were in danger of being chaffed raw. His gaze moved from my breasts to watching his sex sinking into mine and back to my breasts again.

I leaned over him and he looked up at me with a sleepy expression before drawing my nipple between his lips. Oswald watched me closely as he swirled his tongue against the diamond hard tip. I moaned softly and his eyes closed.

The teasing payback was over, I needed him.

I eased off him and slowly removed the cock ring.

Oswald was panting, his expression one of disbelief. He shook his head. "Don't stop, Lark, please don't."

I plunged down on him, felt him reach my core, and gasped for air. I set a slow pace he seemed to enjoy. Leaning down, I stared him in the eye as I moved my hips rhythmically. I wound my fingers though his dark, silky hair and pulled his head back. He cried out in response and bucked his hips. We rocked back and forth to hard, deep thrusts.

He let out a hissing breath, his eyes wide and almost unseeing as he stared up at me.

His loud growl echoed through the room, his cock filling me, pumping over and over. I whimpered as I felt the heat of him flood my womb. Orgasm washed over me and I fell against him. His breathing slowly returned to normal and he relaxed against the pillows.

Oswald sighed and turned his flushed face to mine. "Unlock the handcuffs," he breathed.

Reluctantly, I did as he asked.

The moment he was free, I was flipped onto my back and Oswald was on top of me. He held me down and frowned. "You are a very naughty girl," Oswald pronounced gravely. "Do you know what my mother would say?"

My stomach was cold. "I'm not sure I want to know."

He flashed a near psychotic smile. "Mother would say you were a painted slut, a hussy trying to steal me away and corrupt my soul."

I kissed the base of his throat. "Is that what you think of me?"

Oswald shook his head slowly. "No, I don't. You may be an impish pixie, but you are my wicked little bird." He rested against me and rubbed his cheek against my breast. "I have misbehaved badly in turn. Emily, you must know my business is not legal."

"Yes," I whispered, fingering his damp, spiky locks. "I know."

He gave a nod before looking up at me. "I am never going into legitimate business, Lark. To be with me, you have to accept who I am on every level."

I touched his face. "Do you really want me to be with you?"

"Always," Oswald chuckled and pressed his lips to mine in a sweet kiss. "I love you."

My heart beat madly. "You love me?" I traced his eyebrows with my thumbs. "We haven't known each other very long."

He smirked. "I have always known what I wanted throughout my life." Oswald sobered. "Ah, you don't feel the same way."

"I care about you," I whispered. "I can't imagine being with anyone else, but I don't know if I'm in love with you."

Oswald seemed satisfied with the answer. "We will revisit this issue at a later time." He flashed a sly grin as he slipped down my body. "For now I think I want you to sing for me."

A gasp escaped my throat as his lips traced a fiery trail across my stomach…


	15. Chapter 15

**Wow! Thanks for all your support! Especially to: Jotunheim Storm, Dreamweaver74, Franny C, Cee, Cranberries, FucshiaGrasshopper, lulu2613, Lady Ravanna, Aaron, FOREVERMORE, Lady MaluHolmes, PlaidPajamas01, and Guests for reviewing.**

**A/N: There will be more lemons in the upcoming plot. I will always warn when a chapter contains a lemon. On a side note, I've had a couple of readers PM me and ask who Emily's 'face claim' is and I've purposely left her physical description sort of hazy because I based her on two actresses. If you want to know who they are, please PM and I'll be happy to tell you. Otherwise, I leave it to your imagination. :)**

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><p>I woke to find Oswald's body wrapped tightly around mine.<p>

Pale early morning light filtered through my curtains. Our bodies were pallid against my ivory sheets. I drew up the comforter and covered us. He released a soft, satisfied sigh. I looked over my shoulder to find a small smile on Oswald's face. He had one hand curled around my breast and the other arm firmly holding me by the waist. His hips melded to my rear seamlessly.

My mind returned to what we had done off and on throughout the night.

Oswald proved to be an eager pupil of the flesh. He possessed a keen sense of curiosity along with surprisingly few inhibitions. His sense of propriety that he clung to was abandoned in bed. He was both a considerate lover and not afraid to ask what I liked. He learned quickly.

He was also insatiable, a true glutton in every sense of the word when it came to sex. I felt he was like Jekyll and Hyde, mild mannered but when the worm turned stand aside or be swept away. Oswald had been so demanding; I was actually sore from our activities.

The call of nature hailed and I tried to slip from the bed.

His arm tightened and Oswald rubbed his cheek against the back of my neck. "Good morning, Lark."

I reached back and tousled his hair affectionately. "Good morning, Oswald."

"Going somewhere?" He teased softly.

I turned my head and stared him in the eye. "Have you ever heard the term _golden shower_? If you don't let me go, you'll be learning about it firsthand."

His sharp nose wrinkled. "Gilzean used to make cracks about it," Oswald kissed my shoulder and released me.

I eased out of the bed and grimaced. "Ouch."

Oswald propped himself up on one elbow and watched me with a grin. "The risk one takes when bedding an eager virgin with copious amounts of time on his hands."

Wagging my finger at him, I hobbled toward the bathroom. "We are not doing this all day. I need to be able to walk come Monday."

He merely raised his eyebrows and watched me until I closed the door.

After taking care of nature, I ran the shower and stepped under the hot, pulsing water. Only a few minutes later the door opened and Oswald was peering at me through the steam. I smiled at him and he stepped inside.

We washed ourselves in pleasant silence.

Oswald let me dry him off with good grace. "Careful," he stated in a teasing voice. "You may begin to remind me of my mother."

"I take it she is a bit… protective."

He smirked. "Protective would be putting it mildly. I love her, but there are times she drives me insane."

"One day I would like to meet her," I said with a laugh.

To my surprise, Oswald turned ashen. "No," he whispered, shaking his head. "My love, she is not going to take kindly to you."

I stilled and met his eyes. "You were being serious last night with the whole painted slut and hussy comment."

"Mother is _very_ jealous," he warned. "You mean far too much to me to have her chase you away."

I looped my arms around his neck. "Oswald, I wouldn't let her run me off."

Skepticism colored his expression. "You have no idea possessive she is. If she knew I made love to you, I shudder to think of her reaction." His eyes pleaded for understanding.

"Okay," I kissed him and drew back. "I don't need to meet her."

He seemed to relax and brighten a bit. "I need to speak to a landlord this afternoon regarding accommodations. We can spend time together here this morning if you like."

"Are you hungry?"

Oswald took the towel and finished drying himself off. "Always."

"I'll run around the corner and pick up breakfast and coffee."

* * *

><p>Oswald was dressed in his boxer shorts and was just finishing ironing his pants when I returned. He was listening to Nina Simone. <em>I Put A Spell On You<em> drifted from the radio speakers. Relaxed and refreshed, the dark circles under his eyes seemed to have receded.

I locked the door behind me and set the bag and cardboard cup carrier on the table. "I have two cups of French Roast coffee and croissants."

He smiled and studied his pants in earnest. "I believe I will need to be more careful in the future. The wrinkles need to be steamed out. I will look like an abomination on the way home."

"Where are you staying?"

Oswald put on his pants, careful to avoid hurting his bum foot. "I'm staying with friends," he answered evasively. "The neighborhood is poor indeed, but the bright side is free rent and I am firmly in Maroni's territory. Miss Mooney has no idea where I am."

I watched him set aside the iron and position his shirt on the board. "I'm scared, Oswald."

He looked up at me with shock written across his face. "What?"

"I'm scared someone is going to see you," I babbled as my heart clenched painfully. "I'm afraid they will hurt you again or worse."

Oswald crossed the room, his limp all too evident. He came to stand before me and clasped my face gently in his hands. "No one is going to find me, Emily," he shook his head before resting his forehead against mine. "Everyone thinks I'm dead and people don't look for a dead man. Trust me."

"I can't go through losing you again."

He smiled his eyes bright and clear. "And you say you don't know if you love me," he chastised softly. "I promise you that I will do whatever I must, no matter how distasteful, to keep both of us safe. We are going to be together for a long time. Don't be afraid."

I hated feeling so weak. Instead of speaking, I pressed a long lingering kiss to his lips.

* * *

><p>The rest of the morning we chatted and ate. Sipping our coffee at the table, we spoke about city politics and the rampant corruption threatening Gotham. He was intelligent, but more important extremely thoughtful in his replies and ideas.<p>

Soon enough Oswald drew me into a heated embrace; kissing me until I was dizzy.

He smiled at my reaction before promising to contact me soon.

I filled my weekend by cleaning my apartment until it sparkled. I called my mother and spoke to her at length about Baltimore. I went grocery shopping and worked out until I was breathless at the gym. I jogged until my heart felt like it would explode from my chest.

I did everything within my means not to think about Oswald Cobblepot.

By the time I went to bed Sunday night, I was exhausted.

Curled up between my pillows, I realized a very ugly truth.

I cared more deeply for Oswald than anyone I had ever known aside from my family.

The horror of it was like being slapped in the face – a sharp, stinging realization.

I questioned my sanity. How can a person become so entangled with someone who was a still mostly a stranger? We had only known each other a few months. It wasn't possible. I tried to dismiss thoughts of Oswald, but he haunted me until my eyes finally dropped closed from pure fatigue.

* * *

><p>My routine working as Peyton's bodyguard was the same: I arrived at the Riley residence at 6 am, once the maid woke Peyton and the little girl was washed and clothed we ate breakfast together, I went to Excelsior Academy with her, and after school I took her to a museum or park of Peyton's choosing.<p>

My day at the academy was spent mostly reading. I was there to cut down on the threat of Peyton being bullied, but also to keep an eye out for whoever the prick was that threatened her life.

Sean had given me an email and played several phone messages with the threats against Peyton. I tried tracing the email but it came up to an address at one of the free, mass internet email websites. The phone messages trailed back to cheap, disposable phones and the trail ended there.

The thought of visiting Edward Nygma popped into my mind while watching Peyton through the glass of her classroom door.

Stepping away, I pulled out my phone and dialed his number.

"Hello, Nygma speaking."

I smiled before speaking. "Hi Ed, how have you been?"

A long uncomfortable moment of silence passed before he answered. "Life has been pretty good lately. How have you been, Detective Maguire? I mean Emily." The sheer amount of nerves in his voice made me feel sorry for him.

"Eh, I can't complain," I replied as jovially as possible. "I know you're busy so I won't keep you, Ed. I suppose you've heard I'm working for Sean Riley as his daughter's bodyguard."

Ed sighed. "There have been rumors to that effect."

"Not rumors, fact," I stated. _Damn Harvey Bullock and his gossip mongering ways!_ "There have been some death threats against Peyton. I was wondering if I might bounce some ideas off you."

"Me?" He was genuinely shocked.

"Please Ed," I entreated softly. "You were always the brightest bulb in the box down there."

He released a pent up breath. "Sure, but I have my hands full today. I can meet you for coffee later."

My job ended at 5pm. "How about _Lena's_ over on 76th Street? I think that's close to your place."

"Sounds good," Ed replied briskly. "Shall we say six o'clock?"

I grinned. "Thanks Ed, you're the best! I'll see you at six."

"Ta!" Nygma replied jauntily.

* * *

><p>Peyton was thrilled as we walked through the Natural History museum. She was particularly entranced by the exhibit dealing with the wildlife of China. Stuffed animals had never been my thing when I was Peyton's age – looking at the taxidermy creatures surrounding us was far worse. The sad faces of dead Pandas with their pleading glass eyes…<p>

I was sweating in my armpits when we finally left the exhibit.

Peyton had been very quiet after leaving school. She took my hand and pulled me to a stop under the vaulted glass ceiling leading to the dinosaur exhibit; a pterodactyl dangling high above us.

"Emily, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," I replied. "Ask away."

Peyton tilted her head and studied me. "Do you think Uncle Sal will ever get married?"

I laughed. "Peyton, honey, I honestly don't know. I've only met Mr. Maroni once and we talked for just a minute. I don't know him well enough as a person to even guess. Why are you asking?"

She shrugged. "Daddy said he should get married and have his own children." A line appeared between her eyebrows. "Sometimes I wonder if Daddy will get married again."

"Do you want him to get married?"

Peyton shrugged. "He's sad sometimes about Mommy. I think he gets lonely."

"Maybe he will meet a nice lady one day and marry her," I suggested gently. "You might like having a nice stepmother and some brothers and sisters, right?"

"I guess so." She remarked sullenly. "_I'm_ never going to get married."

I laughed. "Peyton, you're eight years old. I think when you're my age; you might change your mind."

Peyton frowned. "Fine, I'll marry Uncle Sal."

Rubbing my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing, I simply nodded. Children were funny in their innocence.

Suddenly her bright eyes took on a very adult, all too knowledgeable expression for a kid her age. She shot a large grin in my direction. "I think Paolo likes you. He tried to fib and tell me he didn't know you after you fainted but he does."

_Oswald…_

I raised one eyebrow. "Peyton, you're very young so I'll explain to you that sometimes a man thinks a woman is pretty, but it doesn't mean they know each other or even that they want to know each other." A trip to confession was in order – I was turning into a world class liar. "Do you understand?"

Her smile turned devious. "I understand Paolo knows you. He was too worried to be a stranger. The way he looked at you was like the way Daddy used to look at my Mommy when she was sick."

I checked my watch. "Oh look, we have just enough time to bring you home."

Peyton pouted all the way to the car.

* * *

><p>On the drive back, she was staring out the window as I checked my texts.<p>

'_Liar, liar, pants on fire…'_ A voice echoed around me.

I hit the car intercom. "David, did you say something?" The driver left up the privacy glass as a courtesy.

"No ma'am," he answered quietly.

I looked over at Peyton, but her face was practically pressed to the glass. "Did you just say something?"

She turned to look at me quizzically before returning to the window.

The rest of the ride back to the Riley house was blessedly silent.

* * *

><p><em>Lena's<em> was a full-fledged coffee house with acoustic entertainment and a full complement of Gotham University students as patrons. Ed was seated at a table near the back when I walked in. He smiled and waved.

I sat across from him and smiled. "Thanks for coming, Ed. You look good."

He blushed and pushed up his glasses. "Thanks, you don't look so bad yourself, Emily. How is private employment?"

"Pretty wonderful," I admitted. "The pay is a definite plus and I don't have Harvey barking at my heels all day."

Ed chuckled. "Don't tell him I said this, but I think Detective Bullock misses you."

Laughing, I shook my head. "He misses my filing ability."

The slightest smirk played along Ed's generous mouth. "I'm certain he does. He mentions you on occasion so I think he genuinely misses _you_." Despite the horn-rimmed glasses and nerdy aura, Edward Nygma was a handsome young man and one of the most intelligent people I had ever met.

"I miss him too," I admitted before handing Ed my phone. "We have a problem with a man threatening a little girl. I've tried figuring out who sent this email, but I'm at a dead end. The phone messages are from disposable mobile phones so we need to write them off."

A pretty blonde waitress came and took our orders.

Ed had no clue, he was so busy looking over the email threat, that she was checking him out. He shook his head slowly. "The email address is river1023 at gothamite. Now, the bad news is that Gothamite is mainly a free emailing service so they have hundreds of thousands of users, but the company is based here in the city. If you can get the GCPD involved and a judge to issue a warrant, you can force Gothamite to hand over the user's IP address." He hesitated. "Have you considered the River 1023 is in and of itself a clue? Perhaps this is a physical location or a password of some sort."

If I had the IP address, I could find the person responsible for the threats – which I knew from my work as a cop. The email address possibly being a clue never occurred to me.

"Ed," I reached out and squeezed his hand. "You are a genius. The only issue is Mr. Riley doesn't want the GCPD involved unless absolutely necessary. I'm going to run this past him and see if he changes his mind about getting the police involved." In reality, I had another idea about getting Gothamite to hand over the information.

Ed was flushed with pride. "I'm only too happy to help."

The waitress returned with our cappuccino and espresso. Once she was gone, I leaned back in my chair and watched him carefully. "You are entirely too smart to spend your life in the dungeons at the GCPD."

He chuckled. "I'm happy there."

I merely smiled.


	16. Chapter 16

**Thanks for reviewing: Dreamweaver74, lulu2613, Jotunheim Storm, FallinApart, Franny C, FucshiaGrasshopper, Aaron, FOREVERMORE, and Guests. I appreciate you. :)**

**I wanted to update today because I am out of town with the family until Sunday. Also, there is a hint of a lemon in this chapter so I just wanted to warn folks. The real lemon is coming soon. :)**

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><p>"Drugs ruin people," I opined while shaking my head. "Just look at these unfortunates rampaging all over the city." Taking the paper, I shook it at the two young women across from me. "Indulging in illegal substances, ladies, is not smart. You never know exactly what is in those delightful chemical concoctions."<p>

Rachel and Jocelyn looked at one another across the table from me.

Finally, Jocelyn smirked in my direction. "We don't do drugs."

"Yeah," Rachel agreed. "You could have just asked instead of lecturing us, Dad."

I flashed an amused smile at the pair. "I'm simply using this as an opportunity to point out the danger. How are you feeling Jay?"

"Better," she said quietly. The poor girl had been suffering with a hideous case of Bronchitis. Antibiotics, good food, and a nice place to live with heat were setting her right.

The girls had been in the apartment less than a week but they both had bloomed.

"Good," I slid a small photograph across the table. "I need you to keep an eye on this woman for me."

Rachel picked up the picture. "She's pretty… and you have her address on the back. How thoughtful."

"She's beautiful," I corrected.

"Do you just want us to tell you where she's going?" Jocelyn asked.

"Yes," I gave them a nod and stood. "I want to know where she goes and exactly who she comes into contact with. I will call for the pertinent details every few days. Ladies, it is vitally important not to be discovered watching her."

"Why?" Rachel was looking at the picture again.

I smiled broadly. "Emily has a _nasty_ temper and I can assure you being on the receiving end of it will prove most unpleasant."

Jocelyn seemed shocked. "She looks nice enough."

I merely smirked. "I'll call you." The darkness of the evening was comforting to me as I slipped out of the building to the waiting car.

The driver was smoking and waiting for me. "Where do you want to go, sir?"

_Sir…_ I loved the sound of that one simple word.

Smiling, I looked around the neighborhood. "I think I'll walk tonight, Carlo."

The man nodded and wasted no time in heading for Maroni's.

My foot ached as I turned toward my destination.

* * *

><p>The lock was difficult to pick, but I've always been an exceptionally patient man.<p>

Rummaging through Emily's belongings was not even a consideration on my part. I had come here to talk with her… to be with Emily again. Seated at her table, one leg crossed over the other. I rested my mind amidst the familiarity of her home. The smell of vanilla was just a tease from a scented candle on her counter.

The bed faced me and I found myself smiling at the memory of what we had done amidst the cotton sheets. Her face smiling at me, close to mine on the pillow was one recollection I savored. When I had first started watching Emily and felt twinges of desire I never thought she would actually come to me. Never mind make love to me with such passion.

She was everything I had always wanted in a woman and thought unattainable.

The feminine sex tended to shun me as a rule aside from my mother.

Emily was the first woman to really see me as a man.

My mind had been working overtime, trying to formulate a plan to grant her protection. There was only one that had any possibility of success and it grieved me deeply. We could _never_ be seen as lovers; not now, not ten years from now. Our personal relationship would be confined to the shadows, hidden so not even my closest associates would suspect we were involved.

Emily's life depended on our mutual strength.

The comare of any underground figure was in danger at all times.

I tapped my foot as anger flowed through me. I would never be able to take Emily on a proper date so long as we both lived – the consequences were too gruesome to consider. The only way I could be seen with her in public is for work purposes. All along, I planned to have her by my side and part of my future organization.

Now that plan was like ash on my tongue.

She deserved better. I _deserved_ better.

The door opened and a shaft of light sliced the darkness like a razor blade.

Emily stepped inside and closed the door. I heard her fumbling with the locks and her purse drop to the floor. The moment the lights flashed on, I was temporarily blinded. When my sight came back to me, I smiled and put my hands up in the air.

A Desert Eagle semi-automatic pistol was pointed at my head and Emily was staring at me with narrowed eyes.

"Don't shoot, darling," I quipped. "The resulting mess would be quite an annoyance."

Emily rolled her eyes and pointed the gun away from me. "Oswald, how did you get in here?"

"I have many talents," I boasted with a laugh. "I wanted to see you and, alas, you were out."

She returned the gun to the holster under her jacket. "Have you ever heard of calling? I have a phone."

Even her sarcasm was charming to me. "True, but one never knows who may be listening."

"Paranoia is not attractive, Oswald," Emily returned as she pulled off her coat and picked up her purse. "If you want to go the route of big brother one could argue Mr. Riley may have bugged my apartment."

My brows arched. "Oh dear, if so he must have been very embarrassed by what he heard a few days ago." When she smiled and shook her head, closing the closet door, I relaxed. "How have you been?"

Emily slipped her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, but didn't venture any closer to me. "Busy with work." A long pause before she spoke again. "How are you?"

"This scenario is quite awkward," I murmured and stood. "Is it always like this after lovemaking and not seeing one another for a few days?"

Her face grew pink. "I only had one boyfriend in college, Oswald. It was awkward every time and that's why we broke up." Emily cleared her throat and turned her eyes away from me. "I just didn't expect to find you sitting there. I could have killed you."

I crossed the distance between us. "But you didn't," I stated, touching her hair. "I can't always call. You have my apology for arriving unannounced."

To my shock, Emily threw her arms around my chest and buried her face in the crook of my neck. "Oh dear god, I almost shot you."

I held her close, savoring her warmth. "Please, don't be upset, Emily."

She released me and stepped back. Her eyes glittered with emotion as she poked me in the chest. "Don't keep scaring me, Oswald."

"I'll try to refrain from doing so," I reached out and touched her chin. "I missed you. I've thought about you every night."

Emily turned her head and lightly nipped my finger. "You are just horny. Bad boy."

My body reacted immediately. "Naughty girl," I whispered. "Tempting my self-control could prove to be a very bad experience for you." Visions of her naked, tied up, and exposed to my greedy eyes flashed through my mind. There were so many things I wanted to do to her – tormenting her as she had me, making her beg as I had. Lust rose up inside of me. "The things I want to do to you are unspeakable in polite company, Emily."

Her eyes grew darker and her lips parted.

Being close to her physically was only one reason I wanted to see her. There were others.

I turned away from her, willing my body to calm. "I understand from Mr. Maroni there have been threats against Miss Riley's life."

She cleared her throat. "Yes, there have been several."

Any problems Emily suffered were by extension, my problems. She was part of me now and I part of her. "Do you have any leads?"

I could hear her boots clicking against the floor. "Only one so far and I will be talking to Mr. Riley about it tomorrow."

I turned and she was leaning her hips against the kitchen counter top. "Tell me."

"One threat was delivered via email," Emily crossed her arms just below her breasts. "I have an email address and I need a judge to order Gothamite, the web company, to release the user's IP address. Once I have the IP address, I can find the jerk that made the threats."

My brow rose and I laughed. "Do you really think Sean Riley is going to make a complaint with the police? Don Falcone owns the GCPD and everyone in Gotham knows it."

She shook her head, smiling at my amusement. "Not so much, no. I have a feeling I'll be making a run over to the Gothamite offices tomorrow."

"Not alone," I stated firmly. "I can arrange with Mr. Maroni for Frankie Carbone to go with you."

"Riley will probably want to send his own men," she replied.

I snorted with disgust. "Those fools Mr. Riley employs are subpar – if they were better at their jobs you wouldn't be investigating the threats at all."

Emily stared at me. "Tell me how you really feel, Oswald. Look, I'm capable of handling this on my own. I used to be a cop."

"Your capabilities are not in question," I stated in a tight voice. "I am concerned for your welfare. The individual sending the threats may work at Gothamite. Taking someone to back you up is just common sense."

"You aren't going to let this go, are you?"

I shook my head. "No, I'm not."

"Do you honestly want me sticking my nose in your business with Maroni?" Emily asked.

I froze. "This isn't the same."

"Oh no," she answered in a saccharine voice. "Not at all the same, Oswald. I have no idea why you are climbing into bed with Maroni, but I doubt you are just looking for protection from Falcone and Mooney."

Pleasure at her intellect and anger at being found out clashed inside of me. I couldn't let her know what I was planning; not this early in the game. "What makes you say such a thing?"

Emily studied me for a long time. "You are far too intelligent to be content as someone's lackey."

A slow smile crept across my face. "Emily, I adore the way you think. That being said, my plans are not up for discussion at the moment. I require your trust."

"Give me yours in return," she answered simply.

I ground my teeth. Her sheer stubbornness was not something I had anticipated. "You have it."

"Thank you," Emily said softly. "I don't need Frankie Carbone tagging along to Gothamite."

"Fine," I answered flippantly. "Take one of Riley's men, but promise me you won't go alone."

She simply nodded her assent.

I limped across the room until we stood facing one another. My breath fanned against her cheek as I pulled the pins from her hair; allowing the silken curtain to tumble around her shoulders. Emily's eyes darkened as I pressed my body against hers. She was trapped between the counter and me.

"Forgive my bluntness," I murmured softly. "Are you taking birth control precautions?"

Her face burned beneath my gaze. She cleared her throat. "I take the pill."

"Faithfully?"

Emily swallowed. "Yes."

I kissed her throat and pulled back to look in her eyes. "Good. Having children are not on my agenda. I trust you feel the same way."

Emily nodded in answer.

Her eyes were dark, more telling were the hard points of her nipples pushing through the material of her clothes. She was breathing a bit heavier. The signs of desire she displayed a few nights earlier were all there.

She wanted me.

The sensation of being lusted after was heady indeed. I was burning just from the thought of her need.

I reached out and cupped a breast. "You feel delicious."

Emily took a deep breath that escaped as a whine when I lightly pinched her hard nipple. Her breasts were incredibly sensitive I learned the night of our rendezvous. Her hand covered mine as I fondled her beautiful soft breast. The primal expression on her face made me hard.

I wanted nothing more than to bend her over the counter and take her like an animal.

My plan for a bit of retribution was far more desirable than simple sex.

She had taken my virginity and I had been most willing and grateful, but she had also taken my sense of control. I felt she needed payback.

I would not be seen by her as some groveling, pathetic excuse for a man.

I let my mouth fall against her ear, sucking the soft lobe gently. She released a low moan as I increased my ministrations. She rocked her hips against mine; rubbing sensuously against my erect shaft. My eyes fluttered shut as I fought for self-discipline.

With my free hand, I dipped below the waistband of her jeans and lacy underthings until my cool fingers reached the fire of her sex. First I stroked the small triangle of silky hair between her legs drawing another sensual whine from her throat. Biting down on the nape of her neck, I suppressed a groan as she bucked her hips and cried out loudly.

"Oswald," she panted as my fingers parted her sex. "Oh please…"

I circled the small erect nub of flesh hidden between her silken, dewy lips. Again and again I chaffed the tiny pearl with my thumb as I kneaded her breast. Emily was pressing against me, her eyes wide as she bit her lower lip.

"Does it feel good, my love?" I whispered.

Emily nodded frantically.

I locked eyes with her as I quickened my strokes. "I have such naughty things in mind for you. I'm going to make you sing for me again and again until you lose that pretty voice." I was so hard worry washed over me that I might lose my resolve.

Taking a deep breath, I slid my hand from her sex and stepped back from her. "But not tonight." I glanced at my wet fingers from beneath hooded eyes. "Waste not, want not." I sucked her tangy juices from my hand.

Emily moaned pitifully; her knees shaking before she fell into a kneeling position before me. "You bastard, Oswald; please, you can't leave me like this."

I cupped her chin and smiled into her dark, liquid doe eyes. "Ah, ah, ah…" I warned her. "Good things come to those who wait." I released her and stepped back. "I'm afraid it's quite late and I have an early shift tomorrow. I'll come by in a few days."

She was staring at me, red-faced, with shock as I left.

The sight was beautiful, I cherish it still.


	17. Chapter 17

**Thank you for reviewing: Lady Ravanna, CeliaSingsSongs, FallinApart, Aaron, lulu2613, Cee, Jotunheim Storm, mancer, Franny C, Dreamweaver74, FuchsiaGrasshoper, and Lola93091.**

**Please note this chapter is a lemon from Oswald's point of view and is both mature and graphic. There is no violence but hints of a BDSM streak in both Oswald and Emily's personalities. If consensual tie me up, tie me down play disturbs you please be warned this chapter has it. Thanks again to my wife who has many awesome ideas and is the sexiest, most beautiful woman ever. :)**

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><p>Visions of Emily half-naked bound with rope plagued me the rest of the night and into the next day. Attempting to work while fantasizing about the woman I loved was not conducive to my ability to spy on Maroni and his outfit. I nearly poured wine down the bosom of Maroni's mistress, Dorothy.<p>

She was a tall blonde who was so buxom she looked like her breasts might cause her to topple over on her face. Pleasant, and certainly attractive, I still didn't see what Mr. Maroni saw in the woman aside from her ample charms. I did not find stupidity attractive and Dorothy's intellect was about on par with her bra size I discovered fairly quickly.

After a night filled with running the restaurant and all the problems which accompanied my position, I was more than happy to be leaving. Snitching to Falcone was only to be accomplished under a strict set of circumstances I tightly controlled – it was what kept me alive thus far. The conditions were not optimum to send intelligence to Don Falcone. In fact, it was becoming obvious in order to advance in Maroni's operations I would need to reveal my true name and circumstances to Sal Maroni. The thought made me a little ill and I prayed Jim Gordon would hold up when I needed him.

The night air was damp when I stepped out onto the street.

I should have gone to Rachel and Jocelyn's apartment, but I didn't.

* * *

><p>Instead I hailed a taxi and headed to a part of town I rarely frequented. The red light district belonged to Fish Mooney but there were other places, one in particular, which catered to a certain clientele. My lack of experience in the sexual arena didn't mean I hadn't heard a great deal.<p>

Tucked in the ritziest section of town was a small boutique known amongst those with specific tastes. The wealthy as well as those not as blessed financially shopped there to find the items they required. Mooney had once sent me to this store to procure a pair of special silk restraints she liked to use with Nikolai the Russian.

I paid the cab driver well and asked him to wait for me.

_The Trussed Tart_ was still open. From outside the shop looked like an expensive lingerie store.

A small grin worked across my mouth. I couldn't believe I was returning to buy items for my own use.

The thought amused me beyond the pale.

Only a few other patrons milled through the store. I tried to find what I needed without attracting the attention of the two young men working the floor. Each was dressed in tight leather pants and was shirtless and boasting studded leather collars.

Staring at a display full of different bindings, I was getting ready to throw in the towel when a soft feminine voice spoke from behind me.

"Are you having trouble choosing, sugar baby?"

I turned and blushed upon finding a large, albeit lovely, pair of breasts at eye level with only sequined nipple patches decorating them. Although I had seen naked women in working for Fish Mooney and I had seen Emily nude – this was most embarrassing.

She was much taller than me and very beautiful; a redhead with large, sharp blue eyes. Happily, her bottom half was swathed in what looked like a silky black tutu. "You look confused," she leaned toward me and winked. "I think you may be embarrassed as well. Can I help you, dumpling?"

Clearing my throat, I turned deliberately toward the large display of bindings. "I need some rope for consensual binding but I want it to be soft."

The woman reached around me and pointed at three pairs of rope in black, crimson, and magenta. I could see a patchwork of freckles on her pale skin and decided she was probably a real redhead. "My best recommendation would be this polyester rope; very soft and silky. Now the only drawback, sweetpea, is loosening the knots later on."

I was taken aback by the woman calling me by the types of nicknames usually reserved for a lover.

"Is she a struggler?"

I didn't dare glance her way for fear of being face to face with her naked breasts once more. "Who?"

"Whoever you plan on tying up, lover boy." She paused. "You're new to all this, aren't you?"

A nervous laugh escaped my throat. "Oh dear, I'm afraid you figured out my problem. How very mortifying for me."

She slapped me across the back so hard, I was nearly knocked face first into the display cabinet. "Baby doll, getting trussed up the right way is an experience a girl never forgets."

Surprise crawled through me. "Really?"

"Oh yes," she stated happily. "Haven't you ever been tied up?"

I hesitated and she laughed; smacking me across the back again.

"I thought so. Did you like it?"

Answering such a personal question was distasteful at best, but building a rapport with this woman would allow me to question her unfettered. "Yes and no," I replied thoughtfully. "It was a liberating experience, but I felt after the fact my partner thought me… weak."

She stopped laughing. "Did she say that to you, sugar?"

"No," I admitted.

"I doubt very much this gal thought so poorly of you. See, the whole dominance and submission sexual play is about trust. If you trusted her enough to comply with her as the dominant partner that is a sure fire turn on. And she'll be just as turned on when you bring this rope back to her and ask her to trust you and submit to your desires."

I nodded thoughtfully. "Give me the black rope."

"Do you want it wrapped up?"

"No," I turned my head and looked up into her face. "Do you have any special collars?"

She raised one eyebrow. "We specialize in many one of a kind pieces."

My heart was thrumming madly in my chest. "I want this particular piece to be unique, but also innocuous enough to be worn in public with no one the wiser as to the symbolism."

"I believe I have a few items you might fancy."

* * *

><p>Emily was wrapped tightly in a white cotton robe when she answered the door. The irritated expression on her face made me swallow tightly; anxiety flooding over me. She stared me in the eye and didn't speak.<p>

"I brought you a gift," I held up a small black velvet box topped with an ornate silver bow. The rope was tucked into a pocket of my jacket; rubbing against my side.

She sighed. "Oswald, it really isn't necessary…"

Leaning forward, I pressed my mouth to hers. Swallowing her protests, I plunged my tongue into her mouth and stroked her tongue softly. Her hands grabbed at the lapels of my jacket and I stumbled as she dragged me into her apartment.

I was still holding the box out in one hand when she pulled away from me.

Emily swiftly slammed the door shut and locked it before turning. "Did you come back to torture me again?" Her face was pointed toward the wall, her lips swollen from our kisses.

Nervousness flared deep in my gut. "N-no," I stuttered; hating my own weakness. "I realized I was wrong."

She looked at me; her dark eyes flashing. "What do you mean?"

"I thought after you deflowered me," I struggled with the words; shaking. "I… I thought you found me pathetic… a weakling."

"What in the hell gave you that idea?" Emily demanded softly.

Shrugging, I drew my shoulders down; hunching them as when I expected a physical blow.

She reached past my extended hand offering her the box and grabbed my chin. Forcing me to look her in the eye, Emily stepped closer to me. I could smell the subtle perfume of her skin and shampoo. "I have _never_ considered you pathetic."

I slowly unfolded my body; standing straight once more. "You have my sincere apologies. It was wrong of me to lump you in with others I've known. Will you forgive me?"

Emily nodded and brushed her cool fingers through my hair. "Yes, but you have to trust me Oswald. Not just in bed, but out of it as well."

"I do," I nodded rapidly. "Emily, I trust you with my life. Do you trust me?"

Surprise filled her eyes. "Yes."

I wondered deep down if she did when she couldn't admit she loved me. I longed for Emily to give herself to me as I had to her. I wanted Emily to lay aside her control as I had. "Take the box," I held out my palm and she carefully plucked the proffered gift. Rummaging in my coat pockets, I pulled free the silky soft rope I had purchased just for this occasion.

Emily reached out and touched the rope with shaking fingers. "Is this for me or for you?"

"Both of us," I managed. "Over time I expect we will each use it in turn. Do you like it?"

Her breathing was a touch faster; her cheeks stained a pretty shade of pink. "Yes, I like it very much," Emily whispered.

The hunger plaguing me returned with a vengeance. "Are you going to open my gift?"

Emily drew back her hand and flipped open the velvet box. The breath left her body and her eyes widened. "Oswald, this is too expensive…"

"Nonsense," I returned gently. "I'm managing Maroni's restaurant. I can afford to give the woman I love a simple gift."

She handed me the box. "Will you put it on for me?"

My fingers plucked the slim, buttery slip of leather from the box. She gathered her hair in silence and lifted the mass. I moved behind her and fastened the choker in place using the silver button at the back. Emily dropped her hair and turned to me. "How does it look?"

The choker was only an inch wide with lacy cutouts stamped in the black leather; at the very center was a small white gold bird, much like a lark, in flight. The collar looked sensually elegant against Emily's pale skin and long graceful throat.

"You look beautiful," I murmured.

Emily let a hand rest against the choker as she watched me.

I untwisted the coiled black rope. "Take your clothes off."

She untied her robe and let it fall open; revealing enticing glimpses of pale, naked flesh.

* * *

><p>"You <em>are<em> a naughty girl," I whispered.

Emily swallowed. "I just finished my shower before you arrived."

I bit my bottom lip as I gestured for her to drop the robe. A groan escaped my throat as the white cotton pooled around her ankles leaving her nude and exposed to my gaze. The rope was burning like fire between my fingers. I circled her, my limp making me less than agile.

"Oswald, you should sit…"

My hand itched from where I smacked Emily across the rear; the sound echoing in the quiet of her apartment. "Tonight is my turn," I breathed against the shell of her ear. "I'm going to treat you quite wickedly. Do you want me to stop?" My lips dragged down the back of her neck.

"I don't want you to stop."

The words echoed between us and my cock throbbed to life.

"Arms behind your back," I breathed.

She complied and I wound the soft, dark rope from her wrists to her elbows before looping the binding around her waist and stomach so that she couldn't move her arms at all. The vulnerability she exuded was not only sexually arousing… it provoked tenderness in me.

My fingers drifted down her spine to the gentle flare of her hips; the silk of her skin rasping against me.

"Sit on the bed."

Emily wobbled, stepping over her discarded robe, before sinking to the edge of the bed. I surveyed her bound form with growing lust. The way her breasts jutted out because the rope pulled back her shoulders was delicious. I decided exactly where I would start.

I descended to my knees slowly before her. Clasping each of her thighs in hand, I leaned forward and ran my tongue over first one nipple and then moving to the other. She whimpered at the attention so I repeated it again and again until her breathing was ragged. Glancing up at her, I smirked before sucking one nipple deep into my mouth.

Emily was trembling; watching me with large staring eyes glazed with pleasure.

I cupped the other breast and squeezed gently; taking the time to roll her nipple between my fingers.

"Oswald," she breathed out softly.

I continued until her head fell back; her hair cascading to the bed like a shower of silk.

God, she tasted incredible. I could have feasted on her breasts the entire night. The sweet softness of her flesh against my fingers, my tongue was beyond pleasing to me.

More fertile grounds called to me.

I kissed my way down her shivering torso; licking and nipping until her once pale skin was rosy pink in the lamplight after my ministrations. Reaching her flat, taut belly, I pushed her legs open with my hands. Regarding the moist pink slit of her most sacred place, I drew in a deep, cleansing breath.

"Emily, lay back on the bed."

She descended backward slowly; watching me with a glassy gaze and parted lips.

The moment her back hit the bed, I acted. Rubbing my face against her pubic bone, I licked my thumb before using it to part her sex. I pressed a kiss against the soft patch of down she sported over her pouting lips. Emily inflamed me, robbed me of sanity when I saw her so undone.

I kissed and suckled each of her outer lips in turn; gently rocking my wet thumb against the small, rapidly hardening jewel at her center. My cock was so hard it hurt as it strained against my pants for release. I nibbled and lapped at those luscious, sweetly piquant lips until a soft, desperate cry escaped her lips.

"Oswald…" Emily's voice was higher than normal. "Please…"

I smiled against her sex before edging her clitoris with just the tip of my tongue; tracing designs of my own making against her flesh. Her thighs were shaking beneath my palms and tiny beads of sweat decorated her lower belly like crystals.

A high-pitched cry escaped her throat.

My lips closed around her tender bud and I suckled gently.

She whimpered softly and thrust her hips at me. Again and again, I sucked and licked until she was squirming madly. I could see her chest rising and falling as though she had just finished a marathon; her head thrashed against the comforter wildly.

"Oswald!" Emily cried.

The feel of her orgasm was enough to make me nearly reach my own without her having touched me.

I pulled back, my mouth wet with her release. Breathing deeply, I rubbed my mouth against her tender inner thigh. My body was on fire and I needed the same sort of satisfaction she had received. I pulled off my coat and jacket; carefully hanging them on the back of a chair. Emily was watching me as I removed the tie from around my neck. I unbuttoned my shirt, yanking it from the confines of my trousers.

Lust was quickly gaining the upper hand.

I jerked open my fly before crawling on the bed beside her. She gave a startled yelp as I turned her over; positioning her so that she was on her stomach looking out one of the large windows on either side of the bed.

Crawling, I made my way between her sprawled thighs. I grasped her bound arms and lifted her into a kneeling position; shoving the pillows beneath her hips. She was panting loudly and I bit back a moan at the sound.

"What do you see out there, Emily?" I asked as I trailed one finger down a perfect, firmly muscled buttock.

"The city," she murmured.

I nodded absently as I knelt; turning my attention to the view of the streets from her window. "Gotham is going to belong to us one day." I tilted my head and studied the side of her face. "I'm going to take it and you're going to help me. We'll have everything we ever wanted."

Emily's mouth worked for a moment before words escaped. "I don't want Gotham."

A smile broke over my face. "No? What do you want if not this city at your feet?" I asked.

"I want you," she whispered.

Disbelief and pleasure broke over me in a cold sweat. "All you want is me?" I prompted.

Emily fell silent a moment; I motivated her to speak by stroking her aching sex with my fingers. She looked pained as she turned her face to meet my gaze. "I want you, Oswald, and…"

"Tell me what you _want,_ Lark." I insisted in a soft growl.

"The man who killed my father," she forced out. "I want him dead."

"Who is he?" I asked; intrigued with her rage.

"I don't know." Emily looked away from me.

Sinking down, I pulled my cock free and slowly rubbed against her swollen, wet sex. "My love," I leaned over, whispering in her ear. "I promise we'll find this man and I will bring you his head. Do you believe me?"

Emily looked at me and gave one solitary nod.

I smiled; slowly pushed myself into her. The sound of her moaning with satisfaction was enough to drive me to insanity. I found a rapid rhythm with my hips – drawing a sharp whimper from her lips. I thrust into her over and over as we both stared out the window at Gotham. Holding her up by the bound arms, I grunted softly as she began pushing back against me.

Time crawled by as I continued this leisurely torture. I drew out of her incredibly slowly before pounding against her hard; back and forth.

I loved watching her like this, completely out of control, her sharp cries and entreaties echoing in the air around us.

"Please, Oswald," she whispered, so very softly.

I felt closer to her than ever; our breathing labored and bodies sweating with effort seeking mutual pleasure. She let out a high gasp as her fingers curled into claws. Emily groaned with pleasure as her orgasm exploded; her wet warmth quivering along the entire length of my shaft.

My body reacted; driving myself into her one final time I spent deep inside of her. My release was violently intense and the pleasure drove the breath from my lungs. I fell across her, catching myself on one arm as Emily collapsed beneath me.

Sweat coated my face, neck, and chest. My legs were like rubber as I forced myself to stand and disrobe. I placed my clothes on a chair with careful precision before approaching the bed. Emily had turned on her side and was watching me sleepily.

"Did I hurt you?"

She shook her head.

I crawled behind her and managed to loosen the rope. As it came free in my hands, she spoke.

"You meant what you said, didn't you?"

I turned her so that we were facing one another. Cupping her cheek, I nodded. "Yes, I will do everything in my power to help you find the man who killed your father." I kissed her softly. "I want you to be happy."

Emily just watched me as I lowered my head to her breasts; raking her fingers through my hair as we settled against one another.


	18. Chapter 18

**Thanks to: Lady Ravanna, lulu2613, Aaron, Jotunheim Storm, Kitten, Franny C, FuchsiaGrasshopper, and Guest. I appreciate you taking the time to review. And thanks to those who sent me PM reviews and support. :)**

**No lemons for a few chapters, sorry! We are still time wise in the Viper episode.**

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><p>After a night of tossing and turning restlessly, I sat down with Sean Riley. He hadn't left for his office yet and Peyton was eating her breakfast with the maid, Estrella. Thoughts of Oswald's little sexual games were still fresh in my mind. I had always sworn never to become involved with criminals, now I had a mob soldier as a lover and my boss was one of the top five gangsters in the entire city.<p>

The old way of thinking I held so tightly was evaporating and new, more frightening ideas were taking root in my mind. Maybe Gotham needed a wakeup call to stir the citizens into action against the rot in their midst and maybe that wakeup call would come from Oswald Cobblepot.

I couldn't understand why I just didn't tell Oswald I didn't want to be involved with him; my life would be so much easier if I did. The mere thought of leaving him felt like a knife to the belly.

My fingers strayed to the tiny bird on the choker I wore.

Sean studied me with a jaundiced eye. "You look peaked, Emily. Are you ill?"

I shook my head. "No, I just had a tough time sleeping. I think I may have a few leads in regards to the threats against Peyton."

Sharp blue eyes gleamed at me and Mr. Riley's expression grew calculated. "Is that so? Please share with me."

"I have to ask first – do you want to approach GCPD to investigate the threats? They can ask a judge to issue a warrant compelling Gothamite to turn over the IP address of the individual who emailed the threat."

He laughed as his hands smoothed his silk tie. "The GCPD belongs to Falcone. Weaknesses whispered into the ear of a rival become their strength." Sean shook his head. "Despite the several legitimate businesses I've opened, I'm considered a gangster still. Rightfully so, I might add. Approaching the police will simply add to my burdens."

"Does River 1023 mean anything at all to you?"

"No," Sean looked puzzled. "I noticed the email address but I haven't a clue what it might mean."

I released a sigh. "I was afraid you would say that. I think the best course of action would be for me to visit the Gothamite main office and obtain the IP address on my own. Can Peyton stay home today?"

He nodded. "I will keep a few more men than usual here and Estrella will be more than happy to watch over her. Gothamite is a subsidiary belonging to Richard Sionis. He is a rather tough nut to crack; handled some investments for me once upon a time. You might have trouble gaining his cooperation."

"You don't think he will hand over the information?" I studied him closely. "After all, you were a client of his."

Sean looked distinctly uncomfortable. "My late wife was once his fiancée."

My mouth nearly fell open. "Why didn't you tell me this earlier?"

He gave a lazy shrug. "Richard is a world class prick, a nut job even, but he most certainly isn't stupid. I know, whatever his faults, he isn't fool enough to threaten my child."

My brow rose as I stood. "Nut job?"

A bitter laugh escaped his throat. "Take a look around his offices when you get there. There are unpleasant rumors about him and how he treats his employees. People in this city fault the mafia families as violent and yet there are madmen from the _so-called_ upper classes committing acts just as barbaric right in their midst. Hypocrites, the lot of them." Sean stood and buttoned his suit jacket. "I'm quite happy to have moved my investment portfolio to Wolverman and Brothers when I first met Elizabeth."

"Would you mind if I took David with me?"

"Not at all," Sean frowned. "Don't go into his office alone. I wouldn't trust Richard Sionis if he were the last man on the planet."

Now I was worried.

Oswald's offer of Frankie Carbone as backup was ringing in my ears. Perhaps he had been right to insist I take Maroni's lieutenant.

* * *

><p>The wait to see Richard Sionis at The Sionis Group headquarters was painful. I sat with David in the spacious, ultra chic waiting room. Three magazines later and halfway through <em>Success Weekly<em>, the very thin and fashion conscious administrative assistant who first seated us returned.

She looked me up and down with an expression that had me wondering if I stepped in dog crap on my way in. "Mr. Sionis has consented to see you, Miss Maguire. He's a very busy man and only has a few moments."

I merely nodded.

David, crisp in his dark suit, shot me a disgusted look as we followed the woman down an immense corridor.

Before entering Mr. Sionis' office, I slipped on my mirrored sunglasses. The office was dim, but if I could intimidate the man at all perhaps I might gain the upper hand.

A tall, well-built gentleman around forty greeted us with a smarmy smile; reminding me, strangely, of a used car salesman. He wore a designer suit and reeked of expensive cologne. Cold, emotionless eyes crept up my body leaving me feeling like I needed a hot shower and lye soap to scrub away his filth.

"Richard Sionis," he offered me his hand before nodding at David. "How might I assist you today? I understand from Michelle that you work for Salvatore Maroni."

Yes, I _completely_ lied.

Most people in Gotham recognized Sal Maroni's name and feared the man sufficiently enough to cooperate with him. Had I mentioned Sean Riley, though he too frightened the law abiding public, it would have stirred up bad blood.

I needed answers, not evasions.

Shaking his hand, I surreptitiously wiped my palm against the seat of my jeans. "Yes, I need some information on an account with your subsidiary, Gothamite. Someone with an email address with that company has made threats."

Mr. Sionis raised one manicured eyebrow. "How unfortunate, I assume you realize that Gothamite provides free email services and a warrant is needed in order for us to hand over any private customer data."

I smiled. "Wow, I assume you spend some quality time with your corporate attorneys."

A laugh escaped his throat. "Yes, I'm sorry to say that is a hazard of the job." Sionis walked over to a table displaying a black mask and samurai sword along with decorative and ceremonial daggers. "I may be willing to forego the warrant in exchange for a few small favors." He trailed a finger over the hilt of the sword.

"What sort of favors?"

He turned and his smile was cold, reptilian in nature. "I believe we should talk terms in private. Your associate can wait outside while we speak."

David glanced at me with a raised brow. I nodded and he left.

Sionis smirked and clasped his hands behind his back. "Take off the sunglasses. I find I like looking into a person's eyes when I do business with them."

I removed the glasses and tucked them in my jacket pocket.

"You are familiar with the old axiom that the eyes are mirrors of the soul," he drawled as he crossed the room. "What will I see in you, Miss Maguire?"

I stared up at him, expressionless, as he leaned down so that our noses nearly touched. Sionis stared me in the eye like an alpha wolf testing a member of his pack. I refused to blink.

Richard Sionis was more than a multi-millionaire with one of the top investment and financial companies in the world. He was soulless… there was nothing behind his irises except a curious and frightening darkness I had seen before.

Slowly, an unpleasant smile crawled across his lips. "My dear Miss Maguire," Sionis pronounced with relish. "We are more akin than different, are we not? I see such intoxicating potential. How much is Maroni paying you?"

"Enough," I forced out.

He straightened to his full height and I was forced to look up at him. "Pity," he sighed as though grieved. "I could use someone like you on my security team."

"What are the other terms to obtain the information I need?"

Sionis released a dark chuckle. "I have an employee who is underperforming at Gothamite. I would like you to motivate him for me."

I frowned. "Are you asking me to threaten this person?"

He shook his head and turned away toward his desk. Plucking up a post-it, he began to write. "Threats carry little traction at this company – my employees require constant incentive to reach their full potential. Howard has been less than motivated as of late, I think you can help me with my problem. I hate resorting to more stringent measures."

Sionis turned toward me and held out the slip of bright yellow paper. "The address for Gothamite's offices. Howard Lansing is the Chief Operating Officer – he can provide you with whatever you need."

"How do I know you aren't going to call him the minute I walk out of here?"

The man smirked widely. "Where would the fun be in that, Miss Maguire? I would be throwing away a unique tool at my disposal. I'm not a stupid man." He walked around his desk. "I should warn you that Mr. Lansing doesn't take kindly to being disturbed during work hours. Instruct his secretary I sent you over and show her the note."

I stared at him as he sank down into his chair like a coiled snake. "Thank you for your help."

Sionis straightened his tie. "Oh no, thank you. Good day."

I nodded and was at the door when he spoke again.

"If you ever get tired of working for a second class citizen, please come back to see me. Normally I have quite an exhaustive hiring process, but I would be willing to waive it in your case."

Instead of replying, I walked out the door.

Richard Sionis frightened me.

* * *

><p>The Gothamite offices were located in a commercial high rise two blocks away. I left David with the car and walked in the attempt to clear my mind. I had seen a terrible black blank behind the eyes of Richard Sionis and it reminded me of Oswald when he became angry. A flash of nothingness in which existed the potentiality that evil incarnate may surface when Oswald Cobblepot was truly enraged… before disappearing entirely under a mild, affable exterior.<p>

Even more frightening than knowing Oswald had this darkness in common with Sionis was Sionis' pronouncement that I was a kindred soul.

I shoved the sunglasses back on my face and walked faster.

To my surprise, the secretary for Howard Lansing was nothing but helpful once she received the note from Mr. Sionis. It was jotted on the back of the post-it: _Give Miss Maguire full access to Howard and absolute privacy. Richard Sionis._

She raised one eyebrow and stood with a sweet smile on her face. "Follow me please, Miss Maguire."

I was shown into a large corner office looking over the downtown business district of Gotham. While not as plush as Mr. Sionis' office, it was the essence of a successful businessman's digs. The door was shut behind her as the woman left.

Mr. Lansing was in a meeting to last for another fifteen minutes.

Instead of choosing one of the chairs placed strategically in front of the wide, highly polished desk; I sat in a small chair just behind the door. Crossing my legs, I waited.

To my vast amusement, Lansing entered his office tugging up his fly and swearing under his breath. He was in his mid-thirties and muscular; a weightlifter from the look of it. There was nothing about him that reminded me of Sionis aside from the business attire.

He was behind his desk when I cleared my throat. Messages fell from his fingers to the floor. His dark eyes narrowed. "Who the hell are you?"

"I am here on behalf of a very important person. A threat came from a free email account at this company and I need the user's IP address." I smiled. "Shall I give you the email address?"

The man rolled his eyes. "Sweetheart, legally I can't do a thing for you. I need a warrant signed by a judge to release confidential information. Now get the hell out of my office."

I stood and shook a finger at him. "I'm aware of legalities, Mr. Lansing; I simply don't give a fat rat. Funny, Mr. Sionis seemed to feel you would be cooperative."

Howard Lansing's entire aura changed. He cocked his head from side to side, slowly, until a crack echoed through the room. "I know Richard has been dismayed by my performance as of late, but I must be doing better than I thought if he sent you." A slow, cold smirk spread across his face. "This is the first time I've ever been matched up against a woman. Forgive me in advance."

Confusion settled over me. "What are you talking about?"

Suddenly a crystal paperweight zinged past my ear, missing me by a millimeter. Lansing bellowed and jumped over his desk with a pair of scissors in his hands.

"You've got to be kidding!" I shouted before ducking him as he swiped at my neck.

Not hesitating, I punched him in the gut and knocked the scissors from his other hand. He head butted me in return before lifting me by the back of my pants and jacket. One moment I was standing and the next I was slammed against the wall. Dizzy, blood flowing from my nose, I barely avoided a fist to the face.

Grabbing him by the suspenders, I planted my knee deep in his groin.

He punched me in the mouth as a retaliatory move. Pain exploded in my jaw and I spat out blood.

Staggering to his feet, Lansing swiped his hands toward me. His eyes were filled with flat out hate.

I dodged him while dancing backward. "Now, Mr. Lansing, if you would just cooperate we could avoid any further unpleasantness."

He yanked a lamp from a table and brandished it over his head.

"Oh shit," I muttered.

* * *

><p>Digging through Lansing's desk, I pulled out a nice silver-plated pen and leaned over the blotter. "So give me the IP address again."<p>

The young man on the conference call calmly gave me the information for the second time. I diligently made notes on Lansing's post-it note cube. After thanking him, I ended the call. A solitary, thick drop of blood plopped onto a letter of fancy, cream-colored stock.

Brushing my hand against my nose, I winced. Crimson stained my skin.

"Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Lansing." I reached across his desk and pulled a few tissues from the ornate silver dispenser perched on the edge.

Howard Lansing was silent and simply stared at me from his chair.

I shrugged and stuffed a rolled up tissue in each nostril as delicately as possible; hissing at the burning pain. Pulling the post-it notes from the paper cube, I shoved them into the interior pocket of my jacket.

Sensing I had overstayed my welcome, I slapped Lansing across the shoulder and he gave a pained shriek. "Now, Mr. Lansing, please keep in mind Mr. Sionis expects better out of you in the future. He was talking about more stringent action if you don't improve. If it were me, I'd quit, but hey, each to their own."

I was nearly to the door when it burst open.

The form of Harvey Bullock was backing through the opening; a woman shouting indignantly at him. "You know what, sister? I _don't care_ if Mr. Lansing is inconvenienced or in a meeting! I'm here to serve a warrant in a murder case so put a zipper in it."

Harvey swung around and nearly collided with me. His midnight eyes grew large before narrowing as he first took in me and then Mr. Lansing. "What in holy hell happened?"

The silent, staring figure of his partner, Jim Gordon, eased through the door. He looked at me in flagrant disbelief before taking three steps forward – only to have Harvey's meaty arm thrown in his path. A muscle worked in his jaw as he stared at me.

"How is the head, cowboy?" I asked politely.

Harvey neatly stepped between us. "Gordon, do me a favor and wait in the hall. I need to have a word with Maguire." He stared me down as if daring me to contradict him.

I shrugged and he relaxed a little.

"She was just involved in an assault," Gordon muttered stubbornly.

"Prove it," I sang.

Gordon stepped around Harvey and pointed toward the Lansing. "I think the situation spells out what happened pretty thoroughly."

We all turned toward the desk.

A trail of destruction led to the gleaming piece of furniture. Broken lamps, heavy books strewn carelessly, paperweights, and a smashed chair littered the office floor.

Behind the desk, Howard Lansing was seated in his chair. His once slicked back hair was mussed, blood dripped thickly from his nose onto his shirt, one eye was completely swollen shut, and the left side of his face was one large black and blue. Lansing's shirt had been ripped partially open exposing his muscled and tanned chest and he was lashed to the chair with his suspenders.

Harvey's brow rose. "Did this woman assault you, Mr. Lansing?"

He swallowed thickly. "No sir."

"See," Bullock turned to Gordon. "No problem."

Jim Gordon's face turned a violent shade of purple. "You have got to be kidding me! Sir, you can press charges against this woman."

A weak laugh escaped Lansing's throat. "Why? We are just a couple of consenting adults having a little fun."

Gordon stared in utter disbelief; his gaze going from Lansing to me to Harvey in turn. He suddenly threw his hands in the air and stalked out of the office.

I raised one eyebrow. "Harvey, your partner is so touchy."

"Do you blame him?" He gave a sarcastic laugh. "What really went down?"

"I needed an IP address," I confided. "Why are you here?"

Harvey smirked. "Will coincidences never cease? I'm here for the same reason. A girl was snatched in uptown and murdered; turns out she was emailing some twerp who has a free account with Gothamite."

"Good luck with your case," I managed a smile; despite my split lip. "I must be going. I have some errands."

"Try not to get in any trouble," he advised me with mock sternness. "The boy scout is drooling over the possibility of sending your backside to Blackgate."

I shrugged again and left the office; shutting the door behind me.

Jim Gordon was waiting with a look that insinuated he wanted to throttle me.

I turned for the elevators and he fell into step beside me.

"You beat that man bloody. He may not want to press charges, but one day, Maguire, someone will and I'll be right there waiting." Gordon was staring me down; I could see him from the corner of my eye.

We drew to a stop before the elevator.

Jim Gordon may not have actually shot Oswald, but he still hurt him. Instinct warred inside of me; one side wanted to pop him in the mouth, the other hug him for being a better man than I gave him credit for.

I met his stormy eyes. "I misjudged you and I'm sorry." _God, I hated apologies at times._

He drew back from me as though slapped. "What?"

"I know," I took a step forward until we were a breath apart; my voice lowered. "You didn't shoot him. I've seen Oswald."

The color drained from Gordon's face.

I stepped back and hit the call button for the elevator. "I've always had a rotten temper and I'm sorry you got the crap end of that particular stick. We aren't ever going to be friends, Detective Gordon, but maybe we could forego the enemy schtick. I have a lot of problems to deal with already."

He simply stared at me as I stepped onto the elevator.

I waggled my fingers as the door closed; cutting off his scowl.

* * *

><p>Vanessa Cosgrove at Riley Inc. was Sean Riley's administrative assistant. She was a cool, tall woman with an hourglass figure and a mass of auburn hair she kept piled atop her head in an elegant twist. The look on her face when I appeared was priceless. Her jaw literally fell open as she set down the file she had been studying.<p>

"Miss Maguire, are you all right?"

I nodded. "Oh yeah, I'm right as rain. Can you tell Mr. Riley I'm here to see him? Tell him the matter is urgent and has to do with River 1023."

"Of course," Vanessa picked up the phone.

I wandered toward the windows. Riley Incorporated was the holding company for Sean Riley's numerous legitimate businesses. He funneled all his illegal profits through his companies and the money came out clean. How the Feds hadn't picked up on the money laundering was beyond me, but the federal government seemed content to keep their noses out of Gotham. I personally think they feared the city and those who ran it.

Riley Inc. was located within the business district so David didn't have to drive me far. The company occupied the twenty-ninth through the thirty-fifth floors of the opulent, blue glass framed Tochi skyscraper – right across the street from Wayne Enterprises.

A voice interrupted my thoughts. "Mr. Riley asked for you to go in."

I nodded at Vanessa and passed both her and two of Riley's security detail before opening the large double doors leading into his office. To my shock, Salvatore Maroni was seated across from Mr. Riley with two familiar figures stationed at either side of him.

Sean was seated across the broad expanse of desk in a black leather wing back chair; his elbows perched on the armrests and his fingers steepled before him. His bright steel-blue eyes hardened when he looked my way and his dark eyebrows arched. "Emily, you look a little worse for wear, lass."

Sal turned his head and winced. "Not good, you're going to need stitches."

Frankie Carbone turned next, a pained smirk on his face. He shook his head, but stayed quiet.

I dreaded what happened next.

Oswald's thin body turned completely. His eyes grew painfully large, his face paled, and he clenched his hands into fists at his side. He looked as though he'd been run through the gauntlet himself – his tie was missing, the first few buttons of his impeccably starched shirt were undone, and his jacket wrinkled. The side of his face was an angry beet red as though he had received a savage blow; his nose was bloodied and the corner of one eye sported an open knick.

It was obvious he had received a beating.

My heart clenched, but I didn't let my eyes linger on him. "I've had better days, Mr. Riley."

"Sean," he corrected me wearily, indicating I come forward with a crook of his finger. "We have a doctor who takes care of problems like those you and Mr. Cobblepot now have. I'll have David bring you both to see him."

I felt sick as I looked at Oswald. "Cobblepot?"

Sal laughed and shook his head. "Yeah, Oswald Cobblepot is this guy's real name. He used to work for Fish Mooney until she tried to kill him. The turncoat sonofabitch is savvy, I'll give him that. I like Cobblepot; he's a good egg despite being a sneaky little liar. Under the circumstances with Mooney, I decided to forgive him."

Oswald just stared at me.

Riley cleared his throat. "I assume you have some news regarding the threats against my daughter."

I nodded and passed the three men; stopping directly in front of Riley's desk. "I do." Crossing my arms over my chest, I took a deep breath. "Didn't you tell me that Falcone is jacking up the costs for port access?"

"He is," Sean replied calmly. "Don Falcone has always been an astute businessman."

Sal frowned. "Greedy bastard is more like it. He is trying to squeeze us for every dime we have."

Sean shrugged and flashed a sarcastic smile at his friend. "We all would do the same."

I dug the post-it notes from my pocket. "I think the man threatening your daughter works for Mr. Falcone. The email address is River 1023, which is meaningless to us. I have the IP address for the email and the physical address of the sender is 1900 River Street Pier. I believe the longshoreman have different unions. Maybe someone down there is upset because you're helping Mr. Maroni evade paying Falcone for their excessive rates."

Frankie Carbone snorted. "There is a Union 1023 on the docks."

A terrible sense of calm seemed to envelope Sean Riley. His long fingers twitched before he took the scraps of paper. He seemed hewn from marble; just his eyes moving as he looked over the information. The tip of his tongue snaked across his bottom lip and he released a deep, gusting breath. "Sally-boy, I believe we should take care of this and send a very strong message."

Salvatore Maroni stood and buttoned his jacket with surprisingly nimble fingers. A grim smile etched his lips into a frightening expression. "Sean, I'll be more than happy to deal with this on your behalf. Peyton is like my own child, I love her dearly."

"Thank you," Sean's voice was heavy with gratitude. "I deeply appreciate your friendship."

Maroni nodded. "Prego. Non c'e di che, fratello."

Sean finally looked at me. "Take Mr. Cobblepot with you and ask David to bring you both to the doctor."

I nodded and walked to the door; Oswald falling into step behind me.


	19. Chapter 19

**Thanks to Franny C, Guest, Jotunheim Storm, Daniella, Lady Ravanna, Lola93091, FuchsiaGrasshopper, and JuJuGirl for taking the time to review. I appreciate it. :)**

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><p>Silently, I thanked Gordon for saving me again with Maroni. Had he not come through for me earlier, I would be a dead man. I owed him as much as I did Don Falcone. I considered my duty toward Falcone in warning him Maroni would hit his longshoreman's union. To snitch on Emily was a betrayal of the worst sort – she and I were one now. I would tell Falcone about Maroni hitting his casino, but not the union hit.<p>

If I had to, I would simply deny I had any knowledge of the affair.

My stomach was knotted and putrid. I was so sore from my earlier run in with Maroni's men it was difficult for me to keep pace with Emily. Despite what she had been through, she seemed able to function normally. The moment we stepped onto the elevator and the doors closed, I turned to face her.

"What happened?" I asked; nearly hyperventilating. "Who did this to you?"

Emily's upper lip was busted open near the corner; crusted with thick drying blood. Her pale skin sported rust-colored smears all over her face. A terrible purple bruise was forming on the right side of her jaw. Bloody tissues were stuffed halfway up her nose distorting her features. One of her dark eyes was slowly swelling shut.

She had been badly beaten and I wanted to vomit.

The pain of others had never particularly bothered me – in fact, at times I enjoyed it. To see the woman I loved in this condition made me want to _slowly_ rip apart whoever harmed her. I touched her arm. "Please," I softened my voice. "Who hurt you like this?"

To my shock, tears formed in her uninjured eye. I watched as a single drop fell to her cheek and rolled down her face. "Oswald," her voice was raw, almost that of a stranger. "I'm fine, I promise. You don't look any better than I do."

I tugged at my jacket and looked down. "No, I suppose not."

She covered my hand as it rested on her arm with her own. "Are you okay?"

Tilting my head up, I looked her in the face again. "Yes. I look more disheveled than I am pained."

Emily's hand tightened on mine. "I don't want to be alone tonight." The light from the overheard bulbs gleamed off the white gold lark on the choker she wore.

The casino hit was tonight and Maroni expected me to attend. My plan had to go through without a hitch or I was likely a dead man. The thought of leaving Emily alone sickened me. I gently squeezed her arm. "Mr. Maroni has need of me, but I will come to you afterward."

She seemed content. "I'll wait up."

* * *

><p>After Riley's doctor, a retired surgeon living in a fancy brownstone, dealt with our injuries; Emily and I went our separate ways. She returned home to recuperate and I returned to work. Only after the casino was successfully hit was I allowed to leave – Maroni nearly crushing my ribs in a wild bear hug.<p>

It was a Friday night so Emily was free for the weekend and my shift didn't begin until two in the afternoon on Saturdays.

I stopped and bought a coffeecake at a grocer's on my way. Neither of us looked decent enough for public consumption. My plan was to stay in with her until I was forced to leave for work.

It was almost one in the morning when I finally reached Emily's apartment. Light was dancing under the sliver of space beneath the door. I knocked and waited.

She opened the door and my breath was taken away.

Her hair was flowing over her shoulders and she was wearing an oversize black jersey shirt that brushed the top of her knees. The swelling of her black eye had gone down considerably. She was still beyond pale.

A smile played over her injured lips. Luckily, stitches were deemed unnecessary by the doctor who applied a butterfly bandage to the wound. Emily looked exhausted and… _needy._ I had never seen her this way before.

"Are you going to come in?"

I nodded nervously. "You look better," I complimented as I eased by her.

Emily locked her door and turned to me. "What did you bring?"

"Coffeecake," I crossed the room and laid the box on her counter. "I thought we could stay in and rest tomorrow."

She sat on the edge of the bed. "I missed you."

Sinking down next to her, I cupped her neck. I didn't dare touch her face. Tomorrow evening I would call Jocelyn and Rachel and find out who had hurt Emily in this manner. As a man, and her lover, to let someone harm her so viciously and walk away could not be tolerated.

"I missed you," I echoed as I studied her features; carefully committing her to memory.

Emily very carefully feathered her fingers through my hair. "Did Maroni do this to you?"

I nodded. "Yes, he was most displeased when I told him my true name and circumstances."

She inhaled sharply; her eyes narrowing. "You _voluntarily_ admitted lying to Salvatore Maroni?"

"Yes," I admitted. "I told Mr. Maroni who I am and how Fish Mooney tried to have me killed. He was most displeased until James Gordon backed up my story." I flashed a nervous smile at her. "For a little while, I was certain I was a dead man."

Emily's expression changed subtly from concern to what I had learned was intense disapproval. She moved closer to me so that our noses nearly rubbed together. "Oswald Cobblepot," she ground from between clenched teeth. "Why in the hell would you do something so enormously stupid?!"

Nerves choked out my words. I stared at her angry face feeling an intense sensation of dismay. Her reaction was not what I anticipated and I was stumped at how to deescalate the situation. The knot in my throat gave way after I swallowed repeatedly.

"Emily, I needed to establish trust between Mr. Maroni and me. I don't want to remain just a restaurant manager for the rest of my life…"

She shook me, hard. "Maroni could have killed you!"

I touched her shoulder and she jerked away from me; rising to her feet unsteadily. Throwing my hands in the air, I shook my head. A woman's emotions were not my forte… I could understand my mother with little issue. Emily was easy enough to read for the most part, but not when she became angry over trifles.

I tried again; reaching out with shaking fingers and grasping her hand. Feverishly, again and again, I pressed kisses against that small appendage. The last thing I wanted was for Emily to be angry with me. "Please," I murmured against the silk of her skin. "Don't be angry, my sweet little bird. I can't bear it when you are upset."

Emily didn't move – she just stared down at me with unreadable eyes.

I slid forward, risking her ire, and wrapped my arms around her waist. "Trust me," I pleaded. "I trust you, do I not? You wished me to not hound you in regards to your injuries and I have respected your desire in the matter."

To my surprise, and elation, she sank to her knees before me. Her hands were cool as she cupped my face; her eyes filled with tenderness. "Okay," Emily agreed in a soft voice. "I won't ask any questions tonight. Soon, Oswald, I want you to tell me why you're doing this to yourself."

"For Gotham," I breathed. "This city will respect me one day... bow down as I pass by."

"It isn't worth dying for," Emily replied.

I smiled, running my hands up and down her arms. "Death, darling, is not on my agenda. I _know_ exactly what I'm doing."

She laid the uninjured side of her face in my lap; her hands sliding down my chest.

I let my hands stroke the silky locks of her long hair. "You look so tired, my love. Let's go to bed."

She simply nodded.

* * *

><p>The newspaper had been delivered and I picked it up from her doorstep. To my surprise, Emily was still sleeping deeply. She was curled into my pillow and her face carried an expression of innocence. We had simply slept in one another's arms with the streetlights illuminating her apartment. Just to be close to Emily without fear of being discovered by Mooney and her people was a blessing in disguise.<p>

Brewing coffee, I cut a thick wedge of the cinnamon coffee cake. Bringing my plate back to the table, I took a seat and started looking over the latest ramblings of the columnists and reporters. Soon I had every expectation of seeing several obituaries: starting first and foremost with Frankie Carbone. He was a very intelligent man… almost too smart for his own good really.

Carbone was blocking my advancement. I had plans which meant I needed higher rank as a member of Sal Maroni's crime family. Sadly Mr. Carbone was standing in my way.

It was a shame, but he was going to have to go. I was still working on the how of ridding myself of his presence. I discovered he didn't pay his people very well. Greed, to a certain extent, was a great motivator in life, but love of money in and of itself was lacking. To me, money was a way to access power. I never understood those who hoarded the almighty dollar.

After all, the old saying was true – you can't take it with you.

Listening to the coffeemaker bubble and Emily's soft breathing drew a smile from me. For the first time I could remember I felt true contentment. The smell of cinnamon and newsprint mingled in my nose. I wanted to stay in that moment forever.

* * *

><p>Jocelyn shrugged as she drained the rest of her soda. "We only saw Emily go into the building holding the Gothamite offices."<p>

I stared at her with growing dismay; listening as Rachel sat flipping through a magazine behind me. "Are you being serious?"

"Painfully," Jocelyn answered. "We didn't dare to go in after her. You need to get through a security check."

Rachel suddenly threw down her magazine and came to stand beside me. "What about that guy who came out with those cops. He looked sketchy."

Jay snapped her fingers. "That's right!" Her green eyes glittered with excitement. "About fifteen minutes after Emily left this fancy pants executive type came out of the building with a couple of detectives. He was purple in the face from reading them the riot act. The younger cop just got in his car, but the older guy…"

"Scruffy looking fella," Rachel inserted.

"Yeah him," Jocelyn smirked. "Well he didn't care for this Mr. High and Mighty and almost slugged him."

I felt my brow rise. "He didn't actually hit him?"

"Nope," Jocelyn laughed. "I think the only reason he didn't beat the crap out of Fancy Pants was the fact Fancy Pants looked like he already had his ass handed to him."

"No joke," Rachel stated. "Someone kicked the stuffing out of that guy."

A slow smile spread across my face. "Would either of you ladies recognize this executive?"

"Oh yeah." Jocelyn muttered as Rachel grinned.

Mondays had always been my least favorite day, but this was shaping up to be different.

* * *

><p>Money, while not a great love of mine, was very useful in the acquisition of power. For example, I was now sitting in the limousine belonging to one Howard Lansing. Just a meager two thousand dollar cash inducement convinced Mr. Lansing's long time chauffer to take a very extended break. I generously substituted my new employee, Carlo Bucco, to drive us to a particularly remote location.<p>

The door to the limo opened and a muscular man a good ten years my senior slid into the car beside me. He wore a very sharp Brooks Brothers suit and was carrying his briefcase; his cell phone pressed against his ear as he listened intently to whoever was on the other end of the line.

Amazing how many people are glued to their wireless devices to their folly.

I had to wait for several minutes before Mr. Lansing finally acknowledged my presence. In fact, the car was in motion before he concluded his business.

A confused look was shot in my direction. "Do I know you?"

I flashed a thin smile in his direction. "No, we don't have any history together, Mr. Lansing."

Lansing stared at me before a smirk crossed his face. "Did Larry in technology send you? I told him I'm not interested in hiring any further systems administrators."

"Larry didn't send me," I confided, leaning close to him. "I'm here strictly for personal reasons."

"Would you like to fill me in?" The man asked with a snort. "I sure as hell don't know you so make it snappy."

The knife was already in my hand; tucked between my leg and palm. I frowned at him. "On Friday you beat a woman mercilessly in your office."

Howard Lansing's eye turned dark. "How the hell do you know about that?"

One minute the knife was firmly in my grip, the next it was buried deep between Mr. Lansing's ribs; my fingers slick with his blood. The shocked expression on his face drew a laugh from me. "I know a great deal, Mr. Lansing. This city is my home and I can most certainly find out the identity of the cockroach who laid his hands on my beloved."

Pulling out the knife, I plunged it into his chest over and over again as Carlo pulled onto the freeway leading to the abandoned landfill outside Gotham city limits.

* * *

><p>A few weeks can change a great many things.<p>

Mr. Lansing was dead and residing at the bottom of an old garbage heap. I was being given more and more power under Salvatore Maroni. My revenge against that bitch Mooney was on track. Don Falcone was happy with the intelligence I passed along.

Most importantly, my relationship with Emily was progressing nicely.

We saw each other every Friday night, unless duty called, and she was blooming. Our lovemaking was never the same twice… sometimes we indulged in our little games, sometimes we didn't. Every Saturday morning we curled in bed together and read the Gotham Gazette; drinking coffee and eating croissants.

I felt… loved. Even if she refused to say the words, I _felt_ it.

This emotion, our bond, is what made it difficult to ask her to assist me.

However, I was determined love should never derail my plans and so ask I did.

Her compliance is what _changed_ Emily – it transformed her into all I knew she really was beneath that beautiful, translucent skin she boasted.


	20. Chapter 20

**Thanks for reviewing: Franny C, Jotunheim Storm, JuJuGirl, Jamee, Lola93091, Mandisa, LovelyLacy, Lady Ravanna, FOREVERMORE, FuchsiaGrasshopper, and Daniella.**

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><p>Weeks had passed since I came to work for Sean Riley. He seemed pleased with my performance… especially after finding out who was responsible for threatening Peyton. Union 1023 on the docks suffered an explosion of unknown origin which resulted in the deaths of nearly fifty-three longshoremen. If I had any doubts that beneath his genial smile Salvatore Maroni was as brutal a killer as Don Falcone; the slaughter he ordered erased those lingering vestiges of reservation.<p>

Sean informed me that since there were several computers at Union 1023 and it was impossible to tell who the culprit was; killing all of the men was a good, if vulgar, solution. He relayed his opinion to me with such relaxation and cheer that I was shocked.

I shouldn't have been, but I was.

Peyton was playing in the back yard, absorbed with hopscotch, when I decided the time had come to speak with Sean alone.

He was looking at a folder as he reclined in the leather chair behind his desk. Dressed in a scarlet smoking jacket – the old-fashioned kind when gentlemen retired for an evening cigar – and wearing a concerned expression; Sean looked for the entire world like a true businessman.

I knocked on his door.

Sean glanced up and me and closed the leather portfolio he had been studying so diligently. "Ah, Emily, you have the uncanny ability to pop up from out of nowhere. What can I do for you, lass?"

"I wondered if I might have a conversation with you about my father."

He cocked his head and released a sigh. "I've been waiting for you to ask me about Martin. Come in and close the door behind you. I need to be sure no little ears can hear."

I did as Sean asked before coming to stand before his desk. Shifting nervously, I tried to stifle my anxiety. Shooting a look out the enormous window, I was satisfied to see Peyton was still happily playing.

"Please take a seat," Sean spoke and I almost jumped out of my skin.

I eased into a chair and returned my attention to the man across from me.

"Are you sure that you really want to know what happened to happened to your father?" Sean was watching me with a jaundiced eye. "Once you listen to what I have to say you can't put the genie back in the bottle."

Anxiety crept along my skin; the hair rose along the back of my neck. "With all due respect, I need to know what happened."

Sean drummed his fingers on the desk top; the staccato rhythm driving invisible nails into my soul. A sigh slipped from his lips. "Martin was a good man – honest as the day was long. Being one of the arson investigators for the city, he was inundated by unsavory requests to cover up certain acts. Martin very rarely consented to rule unknown causes when the evidence clearly showed arson and if someone died in the fire he flat out refused to go along."

My stomach was cramping as I listened. I rubbed my hands together nervously.

Sean's expression darkened. "One of Don Falcone's capos burned down an apartment building. Two elderly women perished in the blaze. The insurance policy was to be collected upon and the lot sold to another investor. Martin refused to list the fire origin as unknown. Falcone's capo lost out on several million dollars and became enraged."

Numbness was spreading over me. "This man killed my father?"

"Yes," Sean cleared his throat. "He ordered the hit. Your father was locked inside that janitor's closet at the hotel fire and his people were threatened with death if they tried to save Martin. Word came to me very quickly from several credible sources."

"Who was it?" I was begging and the desperate tone to my voice was mortifying.

He rubbed his jaw. "A fellow by the name of Butch Gilzean killed your father, but it was a bastard by the name of Nikolai the Russian who ordered the hit."

Tears gathered in my eyes. I wanted to puke, but my stomach refused to cooperate. Instead I was left shaking and cold. "Butch Gilzean killed my father? The same Butch who works for Fish Mooney?"

Sean nodded. "The one and only… he always seemed a bit touched in the head."

"Did she know?"

"Most certainly," Sean retorted. "I'm not sure Falcone knew. Carmine has always been particularly stringent in his desire to leave law enforcement and the GCFD untouched. I would be very surprised if he sanctioned Martin's death."

I lurched to my feet. "I need to go home. I beg your pardon for not giving appropriate notice."

He waited until I reached his office door before speaking. "Be very careful, my girl. Nikolai and Gilzean are protected by Falcone. Don't do anything… stupid."

I didn't reply; instead throwing open his office door and stumbling into the corridor. I headed straight for the front door. My hand was just about to touch the door knob when a voice floated through the air. High and sweet, but neither male nor female this voice echoed around me softly like a breeze that kissed the skin.

'_Singing in her song she died… died… died…'_

I turned abruptly and the voice disappeared.

Peyton was sitting on the staircase watching me intently. "Where are you going?" The late afternoon light flooding through the windows lit her hair like molten gold.

"I'm not feeling well," I blinked back the tears threatening to spill. "Did you hear someone speaking a minute ago?"

The little girl stood. "I hope you feel better, Emily. Are you coming to work tomorrow?"

I nodded. "Yeah, I'll be here bright and early."

Without a word, Peyton turned and climbed the stairs.

I didn't wait, but instead threw open the door and hurried to the garage. David took one look at me and drove me home without asking for a destination. Along the way, I wept in the cold privacy of the back seat.

* * *

><p>Knowing who killed your father and being able to take action against the person didn't necessarily coincide. I wasn't working at the GCPD so digging into the case files was off limits. I had looked at my father's cold case file once when I first joined the homicide division. The details had been sketchy, but Dad had been locked in the janitor's closet.<p>

In order for that to happen the killer, Gilzean, had to have been in the basement of the hotel waiting for Dad to descend and then made a move. I ruled this scenario out as unlikely solely based on the fact the basement was filled with acrid smoke; even crouching on the floor where the air was relatively breathable would have been a tremendous feat. Besides, how was Gilzean to know Dad would even bother with the basement?

No, Gilzean had to have been wearing firefighter's gear. He was mingling with Dad's ladder company, disguised as one of the men, and he followed my father into that basement and acted.

Rage, blinding and terrible, seized me.

Screaming, I tossed the apartment. Every dish and glass I own was smashed against the walls. Black hatred stunned my thinking mind into submission so that only the wounded animalistic part of my brain was in control.

When my anger was finally spent I slowly became conscious.

Standing in the midst of clothes, ceramic shards, and bedding, I stared out the window onto the street.

'_The fire department knew and the GCPD knew exactly who murdered Martin Maguire and they covered it up.'_ The words echoed in my mind.

Suddenly, the ideals I held seemed like a bad joke. Equality, justice, and honor… no one in this stinking cesspool of a city possessed a shred of common decency.

'_Keep your hands up,' Dad urged, holding his up in front of his mouth. 'Don't ever let your guard down, Emily. When your opponent sees any weakness, he's going to press the advantage. If he goes for the body, you hit him in the face.' Jabbing his hands toward me, he demonstrated upper and lower cuts. 'Get it?'_

Memories of Dad showing me how to fight, walking me through every step of self-defense flooded me.

I wanted to cry, but there were no more tears. My eyes were puffy and felt like someone had poured sand into them. Wiping my hands over my face, I drew in a deep breath. Every step toward the door felt like a nail in my coffin.

Turning, I surveyed the damage.

The place looked like a hurricane hit.

I reached out and turned off the lights before leaving.

* * *

><p>The fact Salvatore Maroni agreed to meet me was encouraging. He asked me to come, not to his restaurant, but to the business office he maintained in Midtown. The building was like so many offices in that area of Gotham: squat, compact, filled with small, thin windows, and constructed of poured concrete enforced with rebar. Nothing fancy, but built to withstand the elements.<p>

His office was on the top floor and had a fairly decent view of the street; canyon-like with all the tall buildings crowding either side of the boulevard.

He stood and took my hand when I was shown in. "Bella," Sal's dark eyes were sharp as he studied my face. "You look terribly sad. This hurts my heart – any friend of Sean's is a friend of mine."

Frankie Carbone sat in a chair watching us in silence.

"I'm fine," I managed.

Sal shook his head before grasping my chin and turning my face from side to side. He released me and sighed. "With all due respect, Emily, you look like you just escaped from Arkham. Please, sit." Sal rounded his desk and took a seat. "What can I do for you?"

I settled in the empty chair beside Carbone. "I need some information and I thought you might be able to help."

He cocked his head; his dark eyes shrewd. "What kind of information?"

"I want to know where Butch Gilzean and Nikolai the Russian live."

Sal chuckled and looked over at Carbone. "Uh-oh, Frankie, I think someone is looking for a little revenge."

Frankie turned his head toward me; what looked like sympathy in his eyes. "Everyone who knew your father respected him, Emily. He was a good man. I don't blame you for wanting to put the hurt on those two pieces of shit." He cleared his throat. "Pardon the language. I think it may be a good idea to wait a while."

I ran a hand over my mouth. "You both know what happened to my father."

Sal looked at me with kindness. "Sweetheart, anyone who was in the game ten years ago knows what happened to Martin. Damn shame, I liked the man. Good, honorable, churchgoing family man." He shot a dark look in Carbone's direction. "I think what Frankie is trying to say is right. Wait a little while, Emily. Things are changing here in Gotham and people who had protection from on high are losing it."

"Revenge is best a dish best served cold," Frankie muttered. "There is a lot of truth to the old saying."

I leaned forward. "Please, I want to know where they live. If you ask me not to act against them, I won't."

"I can't give you that information," Sal stated politely, but firmly. "Sean considers you part of his family and out of respect for my brother, I must refrain from any action which could lead you into danger. It would be like giving Peyton a set of matches and telling her not to play with them."

"Except I'm not a child, Mr. Maroni, I'm a grown woman."

He smiled at me. "I can see that quite clearly. Trust me when I tell you the hammer is going to come down on these clowns soon enough."

What choice did I have but to agree?

* * *

><p>The scratches on Oswald's face from Fish Mooney were still healing when he came to see me. By then I had cleaned up the mess I made. The destroyed dishes and glasses were replaced along with those clothes I damaged. The place looked like I had never behaved in such a mindless, animalistic fashion.<p>

Oswald arrived with a small bouquet: white roses, pink carnations, and white sweet peas. The scent was intoxicating and I spent almost a full minute with my face buried in the silky mass. He was leaning against my door watching me with a small smile.

"The flowers please you," he seemed tickled. "I'm glad I picked them up."

"What is the occasion?" I asked; walking to the sink and searching the cabinets for my vase.

Oswald remained where he was. "A celebratory gesture, Emily. Soon, I will be moving up in the ranks and my plans will come into fruition. The work has been long and tiring, but we are going places now."

"We?" I questioned lightly as I filled the vase with water. "Do you have a mouse in your pocket?" Laughing at my own joke, I looked at him and almost choked.

He was staring at me darkly; his lips turned down in just the barest hint of a frown. "Don't laugh at me. I've worked too hard to reach this juncture to have the person closest to me make jests at my expense."

Instantly, I regretted the jab. Unlike me, Oswald was sensitive toward what others thought of him. I abandoned the flowers and went to him. Touching his face, I looked him in the eye. "I'm sorry. Please forgive me, Oswald."

He gave me a quick nod; his bright eyes searching mine. "Why did you visit Maroni the other day?"

"How did you know?"

"Gotham is my home," he answered seriously. "Anything I want to know, I can find out."

I played with his tie. "I know who killed my father. Sean Riley gave me names. I thought maybe Mr. Maroni could be persuaded to give me some information on the men involved."

He tilted my chin with cool fingers; forcing me to meet his eyes. There was that darkness behind his pupils again – that blank nothingness which held the possibility of every imaginable crime. The tautness of his body was like that of a bowstring ready to unleash the arrow. "Who was it? Who killed your father?"

"Butch Gilzean was the murderer sent on orders of Nikolai the Russian according to Mr. Riley. It must be true because Mr. Maroni and Carbone both agreed with Riley." I wasn't able to cry over what happened to my father – perhaps I was in shock at who was involved or simply all cried out.

Oswald pressed a cool, chaste kiss against my forehead. "I'm going to make this right for you. I promise."

I nodded.

He wrapped his arm around my waist and led me into the room. "Finish putting away the flowers and we'll have a proper conversation."

* * *

><p>Our conversation had to wait.<p>

I spent the better part of thirty minutes riding Oswald's cock; slowly sliding him in and out of my body as he lay beneath me bathed in sweat and breathing heavily. His mouth fell open and his eyes rolled into his head when I reached behind me and gently squeezed his balls. He suddenly sat and pulled me against him, suckling my breasts in turn. Oswald had discovered my nipples were sensitive enough that if he lavished attention on them, I could come without him touching my clit. His eyes were staring at me from beneath heavy lids as he worked his mouth over my breasts; his free arm looped around my waist to anchor me as I rode him.

Only after we each climaxed did we regain enough control to hold any meaningful conversation.

He was half-sitting in the middle of the bed with the pillows stuffed behind his back propping him up. I lay between his legs and against his chest; my chin resting on his sternum. Oswald's hands made sweeping circles over my spine as he stared down into my eyes.

"Have you ever heard _'Singing in her song she died'_?" I asked quietly.

Oswald smiled. "That is a line from Tennyson's _Lady of Shalott_."

I stared at him; one eyebrow arched in anticipation.

He chuckled. "Surely you had to study Lord Tennyson's poetry in high school and at university."

"I must have missed this particular poem," I muttered.

Oswald played with my hair. "The Lady of Shalott was cursed and doomed to remain alone and isolated in her tower far from Camelot, which she can never look upon. She fills her days weaving and singing while looking into a mirror that faces her window. The Lady can see many things she can never be a part of: marriage, friendship, and even death. One day she hears a man singing by the river and she is so struck by the beauty of his voice, she turns toward the window itself to catch sight of him. The man singing is Lancelot on his way to Camelot. Her eyes touch on the city and the magic mirror cracks and the curse comes upon her."

I was fascinated; drawing designs on his skin as I watched his face. "What happens to her?"

"The Lady of Shalott is drawn to the river and finds a boat. She sets it adrift and lays back, singing, as the weather changes. By the time she reaches Camelot, she freezes to death. Thus _'Singing in her song she died'_."

My skin was suddenly cold. "She was singing her own funeral dirge when she died."

"In essence," Oswald answered. "The tragedy is that she still ends up alone, dying just as she reaches the edge of the city." He pulled the covers up around my shoulders. "Why are you asking about this poem?"

"I heard that particular line," I answered hollowly. "I didn't understand the reference." _The line was being used as a warning. Was I going to my own death in pursuing the men who killed my father?_

Oswald stared at me; his eyes were like blue diamond cutting away all that was superfluous. "I've been thinking about what happened to your father." He released a long, slow breath. "Butch would never have agreed to carry out Nikolai's orders without Fish Mooney agreeing with Nikolai's decision. I know Fish and Nikolai are lovers – they have been for some time."

_Damn Fish Mooney straight to the darkest part of hell!_ I thought savagely.

"She had involvement," he continued. "Or Butch wouldn't have accepted the job of murdering your father."

I was shaking and his arms tightened around me; holding me tight. "I want all of them dead, Oswald. I've spent the last ten years trying to uphold the values my father taught me… what a joke. This entire city is full of scum – even the police and the fire department."

Oswald shook his head. "You can trust me, Lark. I'm not like the rest of those people, I would _never_ hurt you."

Warm and safe in the arms of someone who truly cared about me… I relaxed against him. "I don't want to be alone anymore."

He smiled. "You won't be, I promise. You have me now."

Looking into his eyes and feeling him wrapped around me a realization struck me like lightening from the blue…

I loved Oswald Cobblepot and it terrified me.

* * *

><p>We had just emerged from the shower and were drying ourselves off when Oswald first broached a touchy subject with me. He kept watching me with shifty, nervous eyes. When I looked at him, Oswald instantly looked away.<p>

"What is it?" I asked with a small smile. "You look nervous."

He grimaced and quickly rubbed the towel against his hair. "I may need you to help me with a matter of some importance. I regret asking, but I trust you."

I lifted the towel and smiled at him. "What kind of help do you need?"

"I need someone with skills such as you have to possibly make contact with a certain person."

"Who is it?"

Oswald pulled the towel from his head. "An individual working for Miss Mooney who may have valuable information."

I felt a sense of extreme disappointment. "My skills are for interrogation and stopping people from committing criminal acts." Shaking my head, I released a pent up sigh. "Or at least they were. Which skill set do you need?"

"I need to speak privately with one of Miss Mooney's men," he replied. "I haven't decided yet which of them to broach. Maroni's people wouldn't be able to penetrate so deeply into Falcone's territory."

"And I can," I replied wearily.

Oswald watched me steadily. "I need your help."

"When?"

He rubbed the towel absently across his shoulder. "I haven't decided yet. I'll know soon. I promise that Butch Gilzean and Nikolai will pay for what happened to your father."

* * *

><p>A few days later Oswald knocked on my door.<p>

He was pale with a hat box tucked under his arm. Oswald didn't smile and limped past me deep into the room. Not one word escaped his lips as he sat the box on my table.

Fear gripped me as I closed the door and joined him. "What's wrong?"

A muscle clenched in his jaw as he looked at me. Instead of answering, Oswald swept a hand toward the box. He watched me, coal black fringe nearly reaching his dark lashes. I didn't move and he jerked his chin toward the brightly colored box – his eyes filling with impatience.

Swallowing my fear, I came to stand beside him.

He smiled suddenly and feathered his fingers along my cheek. "I brought you something very special. I think you will appreciate my gift. Go ahead and open the box."

I removed the cover which sported an ornate red bow and set it aside. My nose caught the scent of an odor I had encountered before…

My hands were shaking as I pushed aside the fancy tissue paper. A gasp escaped my throat; I slapped a hand over my mouth.

Inside the box was the head of a man – silver-haired and blue-eyed – with a familiar face.

Oswald wrapped his arm around my waist. "Say hello to what remains of Nikolai the Russian. He was eliminated earlier this afternoon along with Frankie Carbone and several members of Nikolai's gang. Believe it or not," he stated proudly. "You're looking at Don Maroni's new lieutenant."

Very quickly I picked up the box cover and shoved it back on the box. "You brought me a head!" I shouted.

Confusion crept across Oswald's features. "Yes, the head of the man who ordered the death of your father. I told you I would do exactly this."

I slapped his chest. "I meant _figuratively… _not literally!"

He gave me a dazed smile. "You seem a little upset. I thought you would be more appreciative of the efforts I underwent to assure justice for you and your family."

"Please don't misunderstand; I'm _thrilled_ this man is dead." And I was feeling euphoric knowing the bastard who ordered my father's death was rotting in hell. "I'm not quite as happy about the fact I have a human _head_ on my table, Oswald!"

"I feel unwanted," he sputtered as I picked up the box and shoved it into his hands. "I can't help the fact that I am a very literal person." Oswald was stumbling back as I stalked after him; his arms cradling the box with its hellish contents. "I suppose you're angry with me."

I opened the door and he practically fell into the hall. "The anger boat sailed long ago; I'm on the good ship disgusted."

"My sincere apologies," Oswald mumbled lamely. "I clearly misjudged your reaction."

"Clearly," I hissed and slammed the door.

* * *

><p>Another week passed before Oswald returned to my door. In the meantime, I spent ample time with Peyton and Mr. Riley trying to feel normal. The initial glee I felt at Nikolai's death had faded to a cold, hollow sensation that lingered in my gut. The bastard was dead, but it did nothing to erase the pain I still felt over my father's death.<p>

Oswald stood on my doorstep in his best suit and waistcoat with a box of truffles in his hand; a broad smile on his face. "Darling, I hope you can forgive my inexcusable bad taste last week. May I come in?"

I stood aside and closed the door after him. Crossing my arms over my chest, I watched him with a raised brow. "I hope there will be no repeats of that calamity."

He set the truffles on the table. "No, when I kill Butch, I'll simply take a picture." Oswald was hesitant. "I've missed you."

I neared him and noticed the large bandage on the back of his left hand. I took him by the wrist. "Sweet heavens, Oswald! What happened?"

Oswald shrugged. "As Don Maroni's right hand, I had to meet with Fish Mooney." He leaned toward me and whispered, "She is a very unforgiving person."

I kissed his hand and let him pull me into the circle of his arms. Nestling my face in his neck, I breathed in his scent: salt, musk, and just a hint of rosemary. "You have to be careful, Oswald."

"Shush," he murmured against my ear. "Don't worry yourself over trifles, Lark. She will pay in good time for her malice. I need your help now."

I pushed far enough back to look him in the eye. "What do you need me to do?"

A slow smile spread across Oswald's face. "There is a young man who works for Miss Mooney; he holds the position I once did. His name is Timothy and I need to speak with him privately. Bring him to Don Maroni's warehouse on the docks."

Refusal was the right choice, I knew it instinctively, but I couldn't do it.

I nodded my assent and buried my face in his neck; relishing the beat of his heart and the warmth of his arms holding me close.


	21. Chapter 21

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed, I appreciate your interest and support for the story. Thank you: Franny C, Lola93091, Lady Ravanna, Jotunheim Storm, lulu2613, JuJuGirl, FuchsiaGrasshopper, Daniella, Cranberries, FOREVERMORE, Guest, Aeryn406, Kizzi, and Big Sexy Beans.**

_**A/N: Sorry for such a long wait between updates! Due to work and a personal issue, I haven't had time to write as often. Please note that there is not a lemon in this chapter as I had planned. Also, please expect the subject matter to grow a bit darker as is appropriate to Oswald's character on Gotham. **_

* * *

><p>Timothy Smith was a handsome man in his late twenties who favored expensive dark suits and well-groomed facial hair. I had obtained a picture of Timothy from one of Oswald's men. Following him after he left work was a simple enough affair. Timothy followed a strict routine: he left Mooney's club, bought a container of teriyaki chicken at <em>Roshan<em>, a small Japanese take out joint, and went straight home to a small, crappy apartment building three blocks west of Mooney's club.

Three days after Oswald asked for my help, I made my move.

Wearing a skin tight dress that only reached mid-thigh, I walked into _Roshan_ and stood awkwardly at the counter beside Timothy. He smiled at me after giving his order and took a step to the left freeing up room at the register.

I played with my long, platinum hair in a calculated show of nerves. Good quality wigs nowadays made the need for hair dye a thing of the past when working undercover. Turning to Timothy, I flashed an uncertain smile. "Can you give me a recommendation? I've never been in here before."

He grinned at me; his teeth were beautiful and indicated he took good care of himself. "Do you like Sushi?"

"Nothing raw," I replied nervously.

Timothy nodded and pointed at the menu. "The teriyaki is top notch. I get the teriyaki chicken."

"Thanks," I ordered the teriyaki chicken.

He watched me with a lazy half-smile and I was struck with a sickening wave of guilt. There was nothing about Timothy so far that indicated he was a bad person. "You want to have dinner with me? There's a free table by the window."

The idea of eating made me want to hurl. "Sure," I agreed easily. "I'm new to town so I could always use a friend."

Timothy held out his hand after I paid the cashier. "Timothy Smith. I'm pleased to meet you."

"Theresa Scotti," I replied. "Nice to meet you, Timothy."

The food arrived quickly and in steaming hot containers. Timothy ordered a couple of sodas and grabbed a tray. He carried our orders to the lone table by the window; the man even pulled out my chair for me.

Timothy talked a lot about his love for baseball and recommended several places to me that I might like to visit in Gotham. He was a genuinely nice, pleasant man with a sense of decency. Generally, most people consider those in the mafia scum with no redeeming qualities; in my time as a cop I had discovered that particular viewpoint wasn't necessarily true. People, no matter how morally superior they liked to portray themselves, would do _whatever _they had to do in order to survive.

In Gotham, if you didn't belong to the wealthy class you were always just a hair away from being forced to make a hard decision about your survival.

_Every_ time he smiled at me, I wanted to retch.

Oswald wasn't going to let Timothy walk away… he simply couldn't for his own safety.

I wanted to walk out and leave my mark right where I had found him.

Not collecting Timothy and bringing him to Oswald would be a horrible betrayal. Oswald trusted me, the man loved me. As much as I wanted to walk away that wasn't an option unless I wanted to leave Gotham and Oswald.

I couldn't leave him.

Leaning forward, I pushed a strand of hair over my ear. "Do you want to get a drink?"

"I keep away from the hard stuff," Timothy confided. "My father was an alcoholic, but I'll be happy to indulge in a good old-fashioned Shirley Temple."

Nodding, I let him get rid of our trays and walk me out the door. I took his arm and smiled. "My car is just around the corner. Have you ever heard of _Tolia's_?"

"Nice bar," Timothy remarked. "Quiet compared to where I work."

When we reached the car, I pretended to fumble with the keys. The moment they fell to the pavement, Timothy bent to pick them up. Like lightening, I brought down my elbow to the back of his head. He slumped to the ground unconscious and I grabbed the keys.

Inside of two minutes, I had poor Timothy tied up and in the trunk of my car.

* * *

><p>I drove to Maroni's riverside warehouse just as the sun was rising.<p>

The two men working for Oswald were waiting and removed the still unconscious man from my trunk. I felt sick as they dragged him inside. Slamming the trunk shut, I leaned against the bumper and covered my face with both hands.

"You look distressed."

"Answer me honestly, Oswald." I finally looked at him. "Are you going to kill this man?"

A sly smile broke across his face. "No." For the first time, I wanted to slap Oswald bloody. Moreover, I wanted to cut my skin raw for having agreed to help him. He reached out and grabbed a lock of the wig I wore; his lips pressed in a thin, thoughtful line. "I don't like you blonde, the color washes you out."

Pushing up, I marched past him to the driver's side of the vehicle. He grabbed me by the arm; a firm, bruising grip that he had never used before on me. We were the same height and stared one another in the eye.

Oswald wore an expression of deep discontent. "Why are you acting so peevishly? I find your discourtesy alarming."

"The fact you even have to ask me that question is sad." I yanked my arm from his grip. "Oswald, you are going to have Timothy killed and whether you do it or order Tweedle Dee or Tweedle Dum to do it is immaterial to the fact that Timothy will be dead. I helped murder a man whose worst crime is having bad taste in his choice of employers."

A devious light filled Oswald's eyes and his lips twisted into a smirk as he leaned so close to me that our lips nearly touched. "Timothy, if he is anything like me or any of Fish's other _employees_, is not innocent of wrongdoing. Emily, I'm going to share a brutal truth with you – if you choose to play the game in Gotham, you choose to pay the piper when the bill comes due. People die every single day in this city. In order to get to the top, we are going to have to step over the corpses."

"And create corpses along the way."

He shrugged and pulled back. "Let me remove your rose-colored glasses. I am not averse to killing if the situation calls for it and you know that all too well. One of the things I admire about you, Emily, is your reluctance to hurt people unless you have to." Oswald frowned. "_We_ are going to have to kill people."

I moved to open the door; he slammed it shut with ferocity.

Oswald's eyes were burning and the blackness in their depths pronounced as he stared at me. "I need to know your sole loyalty is with me. Trust, Emily, is a bond that once severed leads to terrible repercussions. The only woman I want beside me is you but you have to want to be there. _P-please_," he stuttered. "Don't make me doubt you."

In that moment, I saw the true, unvarnished Oswald Cobblepot in all his dark glory unveiled. I had a feeling I was one of the first to see what he really was beneath the mild exterior and genteel manners. He was powerful and ruthless and Machiavellian enough to rise from a sniveling lackey straight to a ruler in this city.

"I don't want to kill people," I retorted.

Oswald relaxed; though the intensity of his eyes was undiminished. "I can promise you that I will never ask you to kill anyone unless it is a necessity, Lark. I have others who are well paid for such distasteful tasks." He paused and looked toward the warehouse before returning his gaze to me. "I have to get on the ball, so to speak, before the others start without me. Try not to look so glum, Emily, I find it to be depressing." Oswald patted me on the arm and started toward the warehouse.

I watched him hobble along and knew I was as screwed up in the head as he was. A normal person would walk away; I had no intention of doing so. I hated my own weakness as much as I loved Oswald – flaws and all.

If hell existed, I was surely on the path leading there.

* * *

><p>Angry and feeling ashamed, I found Peyton's company to be soothing. She was a bright kid, possibly too smart, and delighted in asking me adult questions but I didn't mind answering her for the most part. On the rare occasion, I outright refused for fear of bruising her young ears with tawdry information.<p>

Today she had requested a trip to the botanical gardens after school.

Peyton's small hand was entwined with mine as we walked. She led me into the tropical section of the gardens and stopped at the foot of a huge tree lunging upward toward the high leaded glass roof. Though the air was heavy and lush with the perfume of exotic orchids, I felt as though I was being crushed by the humidity.

"Emily," Peyton began as she squinted up at orchids. "What are you thinking about?"

I shrugged as she released my hand before performing a pirouette. "Mainly that it is really muggy in here."

"You've been different lately," she remarked candidly. "You're like the Lady of Shalott."

_Singing in her song she died…_

Turning slowly, I observed Peyton closely. "What did you say?"

Peyton stared me down. "I said you are like the Lady of Shalott. She was under a curse and she died because she looked at Camelot."

A prickling sensation at the back of neck sent a shiver through me. "I'm not cursed."

"I disagree," she replied. "_You_ have involved yourself with a bad, bad man and _he_ is like Camelot. Being with him is dangerous. In the end, he'll get you killed."

The veil was lifted from my eyes in that moment. "You're the one who was singing that day…"

Peyton's blue eyes were clever as she watched me. "I have a talent and I like to practice." She performed another pirouette before coming to rest on a nearby bench. "Sorry if I scared you."

I lifted one eyebrow as my hands drifted to my waist. "You're not a bit sorry."

Her lips twitched and her eyes sparkled with repressed laughter. "Honestly, not particularly, but I've always been taught apologies are the courteous thing to do."

"Peyton," I took a deep breath. "You have no idea what you're talking about so let's just forget this conversation and enjoy the gardens."

She stared at me hard. "The gimp, Oswald Cobblepot, he's in love with you and you with him. Rather stupid of the both of you in your line of work. If Uncle Sal can't tell what's going on, or Daddy, consider yourselves lucky. One day, Emily, someone is going to find out. I would stay far, far away from Mr. Penguin if I were you."

Breathless with anger, I grabbed Peyton by the hand and began dragging her through the gardens.

"I'm not done looking!" She pouted.

I was not to be deterred. "Oh yes, yes you are. When you learn to mind your manners, I'll bring you out again and not a moment before."

Peyton tried to dig her heels in. "I'll tell Daddy…" The words died away when I turned to look down at her. "Don't be mad, Emily," she whispered.

This time she didn't resist as I marched us both back to the car.

* * *

><p>Peyton never told a soul about her suspicions. She discovered I had something she wanted: affection and companionship. She also came to realize that I was ruthless in my ability to withhold both until I was satisfied she learned to curb her tongue.<p>

It was several weeks before I took her on another outing that didn't involve school.

* * *

><p>Oswald stayed away from my place the Friday after our discussion. He didn't call and I made no effort to contact him. Anger has a way of chewing you up and spitting you out. My time was evenly divided between my job and working out.<p>

I was so filled with rage that I managed to knock the punching bag clean off its mounting at the gym.

Hanging out in bars had never been my thing, but I found my ass sitting in one just the same.

I was on my fourth pint of Guinness when a body hit the stool heavily beside me.

"Hey," Jim Gordon's voice echoed in my ear. "Get me a beer."

I groaned and peeked at him from under my arm. "Oh hell no! My night can't possibly be headed in such an ugly direction."

His entire body stiffened and he slowly turned his head to take me in. Gordon's blue eyes widened as he looked me over. "Maguire?" A deep frown twisted his lips into an expression of disgust. "You're drunk," he accused softly.

"Correction," Eyeing him blearily, I held up one finger. "I'm only _half_ in the bag and your arrival is having the unfortunate effect of sobering me."

Gordon paid the bartender and while looking at me a bottle was set before him. He glanced at the three empty pints and the half-empty Guinness clutched in my fingers. "Not be argumentative, but you _are_ loaded, Maguire."

I grimaced. "I am not nearly drunk enough to deal with you… whatever your name is." I _knew_ exactly who the man beside me was; I just couldn't recall his name for a moment.

He laughed… the nervy bastard had the balls to _laugh_ at me!

I took another swig of the Guinness before staring at the bar as little stars whirled before my eyes. I recalled I was trying to forget something terribly unpleasant and I must have succeeded because I couldn't remember the details of said fuss.

The laughter suddenly stopped and a large masculine hand was pressed across my forehead. "Forgive me, Maguire, but you look like hell warmed over. Are you feeling sick?"

I slapped him away and rested my hot forehead against the coolness of the bar top. "Piss off, I beg of you."

Gordon's voice was a soft murmur compared to the hoots and hollers of the other patrons. "How long has she been here?"

"Dunno, I just came on shift, but if she drained all those – I'd say a couple of hours easy."

"Wonderful," Gordon griped. "Hey Harvey, I'm sorry to bother you. Can you meet me at _Riordan's_ over on Lexington? Maguire is here and she's wasted." He was silent a moment. "Thanks."

The world was not so pleasantly spinning and I suspected the only reason I wasn't a heap on the floor was Gordon's hand clamped on my shoulder; his fingers tight in my flesh. For one moment, I wished someone would shoot me so the damn spinning would stop.

All concept of time was suspended as I lay face down on the bar amidst abandoned candy wrappers and empty peanut shells.

"Sorry," Harvey's warm voice echoed apologetically from somewhere above. "Traffic was a real bitch." He took a deep breath and released a whistle. "Yeah, she's drunk all right. I'll get her home. Thanks for calling me."

Strong hands clamped onto my shoulders and lifted me into a sitting position before carefully turning my body and the stool. I blinked as three Harvey Bullock's faced me; all of them wearing concerned expressions. "Harvey… hello," I hiccupped. "Long time no see…"

He tilted my chin up and studied my face. "You are going to have one _hell_ of a hangover tomorrow, kid." Using his body as leverage, Harvey gently pulled me to my feet and held me fast as I swayed dangerously. "Let's get you home."

I tried to take a step and crashed into him. "I think I'm drunk."

Harvey sighed. "So it seems." He bent slightly at the knees before sweeping one arm under my knees. Suddenly, I was in the air and against his chest. "Hang on and don't puke."

"Never!" I shouted triumphantly. "A Maguire always holds her booze!"

"Uh-huh," Harvey muttered beneath his breath as he carried me out into the cold night air. His strength surprised me and I laid my head limply against his shoulder. He slowed his pace and slowly set me on my feet. "Hang on to me; I have to unlock the door."

I was half-slumped against his car; my fingers buried in his shirt as he unlocked the car door and threw it open. "Harvey?"

"Yeah?" He grunted as he started to shift me toward the opening.

"You are the best friend ever…" I slurred as he folded me and helped me into the car.

Harvey was shaking his head and rolling his eyes as he pulled the seatbelt across me and snapped it into place. "Oh geez, you're getting all starry-eyed and sentimental – this is worse than I thought."

My head fell back against the seat. I barely noticed him close the door and hop into the driver's seat.

The majority of the car ride was a blur as was Harvey carrying me most of the way to my apartment.

Once inside, I clung to him; shaking. "Don't go," I begged softly. "Please don't go, Harvey."

He shook his head and sighed. "Emily, you are a damn heartbreaker." Harvey maneuvered me until I hit the edge of my bed; his arms lowering me until I was sitting. "I have to go home and get some rest. You need to do the same." His fingers pushed the fringe back from my eyes. "Come on and lay back. I'll take your shoes off."

Panic gripped me. The very thought of him leaving was terrifying. "No, please." I wrapped my arms around his waist and buried my face against his belly. "Don't go… please, please, please."

Slowly his arms enfolded me in a gentle, unsure embrace. "What is it, Emily? Something is wrong. You aren't a drinker by nature."

"I'm a bad girl," I started to weep. "I do b-bad things."

Harvey sat next to me on the bed; one arm over my shoulders. He wiped the tears from my face. "Okay, I'll stay, but you need to sleep."

I nodded and hugged him tightly around the neck; his cologne filled my nose as I listened to the steady thud of his heart. "I love you, Harvey. I wish you were my daddy."

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," Harvey breathed. "What's wrong?"

"You should have a whole bunch of babies… you would be a good father," I murmured as my eyes started to drop closed. "Don't let him get me, Harvey."

"Who?" Harvey's question sounded like it was coming from the moon – far, far away.

"Timothy," I sputtered before the darkness roared over me.

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><p>The morning light crawling through the windows shot over my bed and illuminated the man seated at the table. I peered out of one eye and felt the sun like a stinging needle plunging into my brain. "Harvey? What the hell are you doing here?" Quickly, I ducked my head under the sheet to be sure I was fully clothed and hadn't done something stupid.<p>

He released a sour laugh before shaking his head. "You really aren't my cup of tea, Em. No insult intended."

"None taken," I muttered before peering at him through squinted eyes. "Seriously, what are you doing here?"

Harvey was drinking a cup of coffee; his brow rose at the question. "Holy fudge, I think you drank one Guinness too many. Losing brain cells is never cool."

Forcing my body into a sitting position, I swung my legs over the side of the bed. "I learned from the best."

"You got me on that one," he admitted with a soft laugh. "Gordon found you loaded at _Riordan's_ last night and called me. I brought you home."

Satisfied my legs would hold, I limped toward the bathroom. "And you stayed here? I'm shocked."

Harvey snorted. "You wouldn't let me leave."

I slammed the bathroom door and relieved my bladder; it had been so full I was certain it was ready to burst. Only after my hands and face were washed and my hair brushed did I emerge. "Lord," I wiped a hand over my hair. "I'm sorry, Harvey. You have enough problems without rolling all over town in the middle of the night for my drunken ass."

He shrugged. "You're a friend, it wasn't a problem." Harvey watched me closely as I poured myself a cup of coffee. "Who is Timothy?"

My hands shook so badly I sloshed hot coffee on them. "Shit!" I yelped.

Harvey was at my side in an instant. He ran a dish towel under the tap and wrapped the cool cloth over my hands. For a tough man, he had an amazingly gentle touch. "Emily, I've known you a long time and you are going through a rough patch. If this Timothy character did something to you, if the pecker head even _tried_ – say the word and I'll find him and kick his ass to kingdom come."

"Nothing happened," I managed.

He finally gave me a nod and backed away. "Call me anytime if you need help." Harvey stopped when he reached the table. "Are you gonna be okay if I leave?"

I nodded rapidly; tears running down my face.

Harvey shrugged into his jacket and picked up his hat. He studied it for a long time. "Kid…" He cleared his throat. "Emily, you said something last night that… well… sorta touched me. Thank you."

"What did I say?"

"You thought I would make a good father and that you loved me like a dad." Harvey gave me a lop-sided smile that was more sad than happy.

I shrugged. "I do and you would."

He slapped the hat on his head; his face almost stern. "Do me a favor and don't share that with anyone. As much as I appreciate your feelings – I don't need to be thought of as a sentimental wuss and some big bleeding heart. You would ruin my reputation as a hard ass and all around jerk; it's taken me _years_ to cultivate those ill opinions. I would hate to see it all spoiled."

A smile crossed my face. "No one will hear a peep from me."

Harvey grinned and waggled his eyebrows before leaving.


	22. Chapter 22

**Thanks to FuchsiaGrasshopper, LadyMaluHolmes, Lola93091, Lady Ravanna, Franny C, Daniella, lulu2613, Jotunheim Storm, JuJuGirl, and Persephoniii for taking the time to review. I appreciate it. :)**

**Warning: Lemon ahead!**

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><p>Anger was inundating my veins… swamping my stomach and making it sour.<p>

Raven and Jay were seated across from me with wide eyes and pallid complexions.

I swallowed the knot in my throat. "You are telling me a man spent the night at Emily's apartment?"

"Yeah," Raven managed. "He brought her home from a bar in Mid-town."

Rising to my feet, I turned away from the pair and headed for the window of their apartment. Staring out at the street my vision was clouded with the image of Emily's naked body exposed to another man's gaze. "Did you recognize the man?" Pain, sharp like needles, pierced my chest.

Jay cleared her throat. "He's a cop."

"Name," I hissed.

"Bullock," Raven answered. "Gordon's partner."

The thought of Emily's smooth, flawless skin beneath that gross creature's hulking body made me want to vomit. My jaw clenched and eyes watered. _She's mine… she loves me._ The words played over and over again in my mind like some sort of psychotic children's song.

I turned and regarded the girls. "Take a few days off. I need to decide whether to place you back watching Emily or to assign you elsewhere." I left the pair staring at one another as I made my way out the door.

Time was a precious commodity, but I needed more in order to clear my head.

There was a problem to be solved – Fish Mooney had inserted a spy into Don Falcone's household. I knew the only person recent to the Don's life was a rather lovely young woman named Liza. She was Don Falcone's new mistress, much younger than the previous comare.

I decided to set aside the vexing issue of how to deal with my faithless Emily for the time being in favor of dealing with Fish's treachery.

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><p>Emily's apartment door was dark under the edge as I stood outside, one hand tangled in pale, fragrant silk. I was nearly caught illicitly surveying the flat Don Falcone had provided the young Liza. My leg was throbbing angrily from running up and down the stairs in her building to avoid the girl.<p>

She smelled of lilacs… only one other person I had ever known favored lilac perfume: Fish Mooney.

On my way to Emily's, camisole shoved into the hand of my bodyguard, I stopped by Fish's and spoke to her; smelled the vile creature before leaving.

Sure enough: Fish's cocoa skin smelled of lilacs.

Slamming my fist against the heavy wood of the door, I waited.

Emily was pale, dressed in her robe, and her hair wild about her shoulders when she answered the door. "Oswald."

The greeting was cool and the fact she wasn't wearing the collar I gave her only added to my irritation. "May I come in? I would like to speak with you."

"No, I think it's best if we keep this brief."

I was stunned. _She is refusing me._ "Please, Emily. We need to talk."

Her dark eyes radiated vulnerability as she watched me. She tightened the grip around the robe at her throat. "Oswald, I think we could use some time apart."

My mouth parted in shock as she withdrew and turned to shut the door. I was losing her and the circumstances were effortless. Rage, blinding and all consuming, washed over me and I surged forward; shoving her into the room and slamming the door behind me.

"We _are_ going to talk," I advised her.

Emily landed on her knees and the robe opened to expose her pearlescent flesh. Her nakedness only fed my white hot anger; when she pulled the material back together I felt a moment of relief. She gained her feet and stared angrily at me. "What is your problem?"

"You are angry with me about Timothy. I thought you would get over this little stumbling block, but clearly I was incorrect."

"Oswald," she started in a quiet voice. "What's in your hand?"

I looked down and was met with a ball of fragrant silk. So intent on dealing with Emily, I had forgotten Liza's camisole. I should have left it with Carlo when I dismissed him. "Nothing," I tossed the fabric to the floor. "What do you need me to do in order for us to patch things up? Flowers, candy, diamonds?"

Emily eased by me and picked up the camisole. "I think the first step would be to keep your mistress' articles of clothing far from me!"

"That's rich coming from you!" I hissed. "You had Harvey Bullock here all night! How did you like that fat slob on top of you?! I can't imagine what possessed you – he stinks of sauerkraut."

She jabbed a trembling finger under my nose and shook the camisole in my face. "Probably as much as you enjoyed your tryst with whatever _slut_ owns this! By the way, lilac perfume only belongs on a _French whore_!"

Imagining Fish Mooney decked out as a dancer at the _Moulin Rouge_ struck a nerve with me.

I laughed… hysterically I'm ashamed to admit.

A hard slap to the cheek brought me out of it rather quickly.

Covering my stinging cheek with one hand, I stared at Emily. "You raised your hand to me?"

"You needed it," she sputtered with tears in her eyes. "You _cheating_, _sneaky, crooked_ little liar!"

"I haven't cheated with anyone," I returned hotly, my cheek throbbing in pain. "But you, oh you disappoint me deeply, Emily. The first little quarrel we have and _you_ have illicit relations with an old drunken cop who has diddled every prostitute between here and the Narrows _and_ he bedded Fish Mooney!" I threw up my hands. "_Fish Mooney_ for heaven's sake! Did you at least use protection? He probably has the devil knows what sexually transmitted disease!"

Emily's face was twisted with anger as she held her hands up as if to ward me off. "Oswald, you need help."

My head was throbbing with rage; my vision stained red with anger. To my surprise, I found I was painfully aroused. "I need help? If anyone here needs help it's you! _Bullock?!_ James Gordon, I could almost understand if you bedded him, but Harvey Bullock?"

She pivoted on her heel and headed straight for the kitchen cabinets. Her hands tore the first door open and her fists held plates. "I _didn't_ fuck Harvey Bullock!" Emily screamed before sending the first plate sailing in my direction.

I ducked and the ceramic missile smashed against the wall. "Ha! I don't believe you!"

Emily's face was colored a deep, brick red shade. Several more plates sailed my way; each barely missing their mark and leaving me standing in a sea of shards. She pawed through the cupboards before filling her hands with glass tumblers.

I pointed my finger at her. "Don't you dare, Lark! I'm warning you!"

The first glass whistled by my head barely missing me and smashing against the door in a shower of glass. The second and third followed suit and soon it became clear Emily was completely out of her mind with anger. She wasn't about to stop until she drew blood.

Ducking, I plowed forward despite the screaming pain of my leg. I caught Emily around the waist and the momentum of my body drove us to the floor in a struggling, writhing heap of limbs.

She was screaming under me; desperately trying to knee me in the groin. I slapped my hand over her mouth and settled between her naked, flailing thighs. The feel of her unprotected flower brushing against my hard cock, even through my trousers, drew a gasp from deep inside my chest.

"I didn't sleep with another woman," I panted against her ear.

Emily's muffled scream echoed against my hand.

My free hand pinned both of hers to the floor in a show of power and dominance. I wanted to shove my trousers down and take her hard, make her squeal my name and beg me to continue. No matter how conniving or sadistic I was, my basic makeup was disgusted by rape. I had no doubt as angry as Emily was that I would never finagle consent from her until she was fully calm.

"Don't scream," I warned her before removing my hand.

Emily was staring at me in such a way that suggested death if she were free to cause injury. "Get off me, Oswald."

I managed a pleasant smile. "Only if you give me your word to remain calm; otherwise, I'm staying right here until you do calm down."

"You don't trust me," she accused softly.

A laugh escaped my throat. "I simply admire the full range of your capabilities, Emily."

"Fine," Emily sputtered. "I promise to stay calm."

I flipped onto my back beside her and we fell into a long period of silence that each of us seemed reluctant to break. The light pouring in the windows slowly changed as evening dragged across the sky outside. She was warm beside me; despite the fact we didn't touch.

She released a sigh. "Oswald, I did _not_ sleep with Harvey Bullock."

Jealousy almost made me cross-eyed at the idea another man had spent the night in Emily's apartment. I swallowed down the knot clogging my throat. "Why was he here?"

"I was drunk in a bar and Harvey brought me home. He spent the night sleeping in a chair."

My mind considered her words carefully. "Why were you drunk?"

She took a deep breath and released it slowly. "I wanted to forget about… Timothy."

My eyes turned from the ceiling to her pallid face. The naked honesty in the depths of her eyes was indisputable. "You attach too much importance to the lives of people like him, Lark." A smoldering anger was burning deep inside of me that she _wouldn't_ let Timothy or his death go. The man was buried in a junkyard outside the city – in numerous pieces – and still haunting me. "Getting liquored up over Timothy's fate is beneath you. How can we move past this?"

"I don't know," she whispered.

Pulling her against me, I pressed my lips against her forehead. "I believe honesty is going to be the best policy between us. Can I trust you?"

Emily's expression was one of hurt. "Yes, of course."

"What I am about to tell you could get me killed if a word leaves this apartment. My life is literally in your hands."

"I understand."

"I'm not really a snitch working for Don Maroni and telling him Don Falcone's secrets."

She wore an expression of disbelief. "You aren't?"

"No," I drew a deep breath. "My strategy is much deeper and more complex. I'm snitching to Don Falcone about Don Maroni's operations – I have been all along."

Emily stared at me; her mouth falling open as her eyes widened. "Have you lost your mind, Oswald? If Maroni finds out, he'll kill you!"

I released a nervous laugh. "I'm well aware of the stakes, Lark. I've always been of a mind that in order to gain opportunities, one must be willing to accept great risks."

She fell into thought and was silent for a long time.

"I'm working for Riley now," Emily's voice was small as she spoke. "You should have told me _before_ I accepted the position. How the hell do you expect me to walk away from Sean Riley?"

"I don't," I answered softly. "For right now, I need you to stay where you are. I have plans for you, Lark, and once I am in the position that secures my future, I'll make my move. Trust me; you'll be free to do whatever you wish in the employment arena. I hope you choose to follow me when the time comes."

Emily rose and looked at the remains of her dishes fragmented and littering the floor. "What a mess. I need a shower."

* * *

><p>I waited for her to close the bathroom door before moving. Familiarity with her apartment allowed me to clean up the smashed glass and ceramic shards. By the time she emerged from the shower, I was seated on the end of the bed.<p>

She looked at the clean floor before allowing her gaze to drift toward me. "I'm sorry."

"We can dispense with the apologies," I murmured, holding up my finger. Her collar dangled as an enticement I hoped she was unable to resist. "Both of us are sorry and have pledged to trust one another. I think we should settle in for the night. Don't you?"

Emily shuffled forward slowly until her knees brushed mine. She reached out and touched the collar before drawing back. "Oswald…"

I rose from the bed and moved behind her. Quickly I brought the collar around her neck and fastened it with the flick of my fingers. "Shush," I breathed against her ear. "Take off the robe."

She was breathing deeply as she untied the robe and let it slip from her shoulders; the soft fabric heaping around her ankles.

The animal was awakened in me – not just from fighting, but jealousy, unnecessary or not.

My eyes drifted over the smooth, flawless expanse of her back down to the sweet curve of her buttocks. I could almost taste her skin against my mouth; I _needed_ to taste her, to feel her impaled on my cock. I believed Emily that she hadn't taken that oaf, Bullock, into her bed. Still I wanted to cement what was between us.

She turned her head to face me.

I looked at her, leaning forward to kiss her lips. Our lips touched ever almost teasingly. Wanting more, she leaned in deepening the kiss. I buried my fingers in her hair. She moaned softly into my mouth as she turned in my arms. She brought her hands around to caress my back and shoulders.

The tight clenched muscles loosened under her touch, relaxing me further.

I trailed kisses to her ear, nibbling gently on the edge of the lobe. My hands were roaming over her body. One caressed her buttocks while the other cupped her breast; the feel of her pebbled nipple against my palm. She gasped and leaned into my hand as I chuckled quietly into her ear.

"Someone missed me."

Trailing kisses across her throat, she moaned tilting her head back. I opened my mouth and bit down.

She buried her fingers into my hair. She pulled and dragged my lips back to hers; kissing me hard with passion. Our tongues dueled; she captured mine and sucked it sensuously. A groan escaped my throat as I pushed her back to sit on the table top. Parting her legs, I stepped between them.

I skimmed my hands up her abdomen to her breasts, cupping the soft globes firmly, capturing her sensitive nipples between my thumb and forefinger. I pinched and rolled them all the while studying Emily's face. She gasped and moaned in response.

Reaching up Emily pulled my head down for a kiss. I leaned further forcing her to lie back on the table; her thighs spreading like a beautiful, exotic flower. One hand kneading her breast the other slipped between her parted legs. Cupping her damp mound, I rubbed her clit with my thumb in lazy little circles.

Emily bucked against me in response.

"That's more than enough foreplay," I murmured against the soft shell of her ear. "Deny it, Emily, but you are dripping." One hand fumbled with my fly before shoving my trousers and boxers down. The rest of my clothing be damned, I needed relief.

I pulled back, flipping her body face down onto the table. In one swift motion I parted her legs and drove deep into her until my cock could go no further. Her eyes flew open at the sudden intrusion before dropping closed again.

"Oswald," Emily moaned.

I could feel her muscles clenching as I slowly pulled out. Emily whimpered I withdrew and pushed her hips back trying to spear her pussy on me. The hot, wet feel of her surrounding me never failed to make me high.

"Do it," I muttered. "Move those hips…"

Grabbing both of her hands I held them down to the table's cold surface. I rode her with hard, demanding strokes; pounding my hips against Emily's sweet derriere. Wet slapping sounds echoed in the room along with my panting and her high, keening whines.

The smell of sex permeated the air around us.

Emily's long hair was spilled around her shoulders like a curtain of silk; brushing against the reddening bite marks littering her shoulders. I gave her another and she cried out for more as her wet heat tightened further around me.

"Tell me what you want," I demanded; halting my hips. Sweat dripped down my face, my hair a wet, lost cause from her manhandling.

"I want you so bad… don't stop," Emily pleaded hoarsely.

"Lark," I crooned.

With that my thrusts were delivered in a slow easy rhythm, her hips rising to meet mine, her breath coming in short, staccato bursts. A moan escaped her throat as my strokes increased in power. Her hands strained to break free from my grip.

Grabbing a fistful of her hair and wrapping it around my wrist I thrust deep into her.

The pitch of her voice changed as Emily cried out my name. I felt her tense up. Releasing her hands, smacking her rear loudly, I drove deep feeling my balls tingle in tell-tale warning. I was going to reach climax soon. She started to turn her head to look at me; I tightened my grip on her hair forcing her to look ahead. Over and over again I spanked her backside until it sported a rosy glow.

My breathing deepened; small moans escaping my throat.

Emily whimpered; getting louder until she was screaming. Her tensing muscles and the sounds of her pleasure were enough to finally drive me over the edge and to climax. My cock pulsed and I felt the burning, hot explosion as my balls emptied and ecstasy washed over me.

A growl escaped my throat as I rocked gently against her.

I collapsed, covering her sweat soaked body with mine. My suit would need to be thoroughly steamed and I didn't care one little bit. "Lovely," I breathed between kisses to her shoulder blades.

"Hmmm," Emily groaned appreciatively. "I needed that."

Stumbling back, I pulled her up and captured her lips. We kissed all the way back to the bed before falling onto the covers. She rose over me and began unbuttoning my shirt with her free hand. I brushed my fingers across her cheek and she kissed them softly.

"You spanked me," she teased.

I smirked up at her. "Yes, I think you needed a good spanking."

Emily pushed my shirt and waistcoat apart; flicking off my tie. She leaned her chin against the snow white skin covering my sternum. "One could say you need a spanking more than me."

"Perhaps," I admitted as I relaxed. "I would not be averse to a role reversal."

Her dark eyes sparkled. "Who does the camisole belong to?"

"Don Falcone's mistress," I stated matter-of-factly. "She's this young, foolish thing working for Fish Mooney. I haven't entirely decided how to deal with her. I could simply tell the Don, but he may not take the news very well. If he did eliminate her, I then lose a possibly useful tool. I could just leave her in place and blackmail the silly girl. So many possibilities and I have to choose the precise course that puts me in complete control."

Emily raised one eyebrow. "How did you end up with the camisole of Don Falcone's mistress?"

"I picked the lock on her apartment door and let myself in." The look on her face was forbidding and amused at the same time. "Honestly, it isn't as if I could wrangle an invite for tea so we could have a civilized chat. She turned up earlier than I anticipated so I had to vamoose." I cleared my throat. "I left in such a hurry I honestly didn't realize what I had in my hand."

A laugh escaped her throat. "You are something else."

"Something good or something bad?" I questioned lightly.

Emily kissed me. "Both."

I smiled as she settled against my shoulder and turned my mind back to the problem of little Liza.


	23. Chapter 23

**My sincere thanks for reviewing to: Lady Ravanna, Franny C, Jotunheim Storm, Persephoniii, FuchsiaGrasshopper, JuJuGirl, and Lola93091!**

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><p>Oswald was curved around me with his head tucked between my shoulder and my neck. The feel of him against me was both pleasant and disturbing. I was sleeping with a self-confessed murderer, trickster, and someone I was rapidly beginning to believe was a criminal mastermind. His flesh was slightly cool where it pressed against me and I could feel his heartbeat against my back.<p>

I turned my head and studied his still peaceful features.

When he slept, Oswald Cobblepot looked like a young boy. There was a sense of innocence to him that I _knew_ was false. He was not a beautiful man and yet the attraction I felt to him was all encompassing… frightening even.

I joked with him once that he was obsessed with me. Oswald's pale face had grown flush and he had denied the allegation with an embarrassed stutter. Now as I lay here with Oswald, I wondered if I wasn't the one who held the obsession.

Why couldn't I let him go? Why was I determined to be with a man sporting blood stained hands?

Oswald's raging jealousy of Harvey Bullock gave me pause.

Perhaps I'd be better off screwing Harvey – at least with him you knew exactly what you were dealing with. Harvey was a straight shooter for the most part with a blustery personality hiding a heart of gold. Only there was a big problem: Harvey had a type and I didn't fit it. Not to mention that I wasn't remotely attracted to Bullock in a sexual or romantic way. Harvey was like a father… a slightly mean and boozy father, but one you knew loved you in his own crass way.

I gently slid Oswald's arm from around me and slinked out of the bed. He sighed and buried his face in my pillow. Sneaking off to the bathroom, I locked myself in and began my daily ablutions.

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><p>When I emerged from the steam, Oswald was fully dressed. He had made the bed and was sitting on the edge wearing a sly smile. He patted the comforter beside him. I humored him and sat beside him. He sighed and shook his head. "I need another favor." The look on my face must have disturbed him because he quickly raised his hand. "No, not a business related dealing, I promise."<p>

"What is it?" I asked quietly watching him carefully.

Oswald took my hand between his and studied it. "I'm not going to be able to make it home to visit with my mother for several weeks… in fact I'll miss Christmas entirely. I have to be careful because as you know Fish Mooney is a devious woman. If she ever found my mother, well, I'm sure you know exactly what would happen."

I nodded.

He glanced at me from the corner of his eye. "I feel incredibly guilty neglecting my mother in such a shameless fashion around the holidays. Would you be willing to drop her off a token of my affection?"

Confusion settled over me like a blanket. "I thought you didn't want me anywhere around your mother…"

A nervous laugh escaped Oswald's throat. "Trust me, you meeting mother is the _last_ thing I want, but I'm rather desperate."

"I'd be happy to help you."

Relief colored his features and he gave me a genuine smile. "Good, good. Thank you, Emily." Oswald met my gaze head on. "Ma is a little… eccentric. She will accuse you of horrible, ridiculous behavior. Ignore whatever she says to you. Mother tends to be a bit overly dramatic."

"Uh-huh," I squeezed his hand. "No worries, Oswald. What do you need me to drop off?"

He reached into his pocket and drew out a small red velvet box. "My mother loves emeralds so I indulged on her behalf."

I took the small box and flipped it open. "Holy shit!"

In my hands was an oval-shaped, perfect emerald surrounded by shimmering, radiant diamonds on a flawless gold chain. _Brubecker Jewelers, 1875_ was marked on the interior of the box. This was _the_ premier jeweler of Gotham City. I estimated the gift to be worth upward of twenty grand easy.

"Indeed," Oswald quipped with a slight grin. "I spent a ludicrous sum, but Don Maroni has proved incredibly generous so I felt confident in my purchase."

I cleared my throat and managed a smile. "I'll be happy to drop this off to your mother. Just give me the address."

He pressed a soft kiss against my cheek in response.

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><p>The old apartment house was in a once grand section of Gotham only recently turning to pot. The building was a pre-war beauty in desperate need of renovation and an elevator. After hoofing it up nine flights of stairs, I could understand why Oswald was so skinny. Twice a day, every day added up to a serious aerobic workout.<p>

Plastering a bright smile on my face, I knocked on Mrs. Cobblepot's door.

A few minutes went by before I heard a shuffling from behind the solid heavy wood. Slowly the door was pulled open an inch or so; just enough to expose a bright blue eye peering out at me from the crack below the security chain.

"Yes?" A heavily accented voice asked suspiciously. "What you want?"

"Mrs. Cobblepot, might I have a moment of your time? Oswald sent me."

The door slammed with a thump before I heard the chain scrambling against wood. A moment later the door was thrown wide open to expose a frightening-looking woman. I had to force myself not to recoil out of pure revulsion. Wild-haired and with more than a glint of madness in her cunning blue eyes – Oswald's eyes – she reminded me of a sad old Blanche from _A Streetcar Named Desire._

Mrs. Cobblepot wore a dress more akin to fashion from the 1940's than modern times and had powdered her face to the point she was dead white. The look of her was a woman who belonged in the genteel poverty of European gentry instead of the slums of Gotham.

I had seen some squirrely characters in my time, but this lady was on my list. The last vestiges of my law enforcement senses tingled in warning.

She draped her stout body against the door frame like she was a Hollywood starlet of old. "Oswald sent you, yes? How is my dear son? He is such a hardworking boy, a good boy. If only he had time for his poor, neglected mama…" The accent was German I suspected.

"Oswald was very sorry for not being able to visit in person."

Her eyes narrowed as they traveled over me from the crown of my head down to the tips of my shoes and back up again. "How you know my boy?"

I forced the smile to stay in place. "Work." Another lie. I really needed to consider spending some quality time in confession.

She sneered though her voice was still genial. "You work in the restaurant with my Oswald. What kind of job you work?"

"Dishwasher," I muttered.

Her graying eyebrows arched far up her brow. "You wash dishes yet wear designer shoes. No, I think not."

Fumbling in my pocket, I pulled out the red velvet box and held it out to her. Privacy would have been more desirable, but I wasn't about to step foot inside the fruitcake's apartment. Luckily, the hall was deserted. "Oswald asked me to drop this off to you along with wishes for a happy holiday."

Mrs. Cobblepot looked enraptured. She snatched the box from my hand and held it against her chest in a gesture of delight. "My Oswald is a good, kind boy! He always remembers his poor mother." A frown turned her lips down at the corners. "Don't think you fool me, missy. I know who you are."

I cleared my throat and stepped back from her. "Have a nice holiday, Mrs. Cobblepot." Not five steps away, the screech that arose from her throat stopped me dead in my tracks. I turned to look at her.

Mrs. Cobblepot's blue eyes were wide and she was pointing at me; her red lips peeled back from her teeth like an animal. "_Slut!_ You are the hussy responsible for my poor Oswald being away from home for so long. You cannot fool me – I _see_ what you really are."

The last thing I wanted was to leave Oswald's mother in hysterics. "I'm sorry you feel that way, Mrs. Cobblepot, but you have my assurances that I had nothing to do with Oswald being gone."

Before I could turn to leave, she was out the door and nearly on top of me. She sneered as her glittering eyes searched my face. "Oswald will never love you like he loves me. He is a boy and young men have needs that not even their dearest mama can fulfill. Don't forget he will always come back to me, you little whore." The woman's hand flashed and she caught my chin in a shockingly strong hold. "I expected you to be painted up like prostitute." She released a derisive snort before stepping away from me. "Go ahead and crawl back to Oswald like a bitch in heat."

I stared at her; disbelief at her clear insanity written over my face.

Mrs. Cobblepot walked back to her apartment door and waved her hand dismissively at me as though she were royalty dismissing a lowly serf. _"Go."_

Needing no other impetus, I left as quickly as my legs could carry me. Only my pride kept me from running.

* * *

><p>Work improved by leaps and bounds. Mr. Riley was bogged down at work so I didn't have to worry about feeling like a sneaky little liar in his presence. Peyton ceased and desisted with her voice throwing antics; although she still tried to counsel me against an ongoing relationship with Oswald.<p>

We were seated in the park watching people go by when she dared broach the subject again.

Her large blue eyes were filled with sincerity when she looked at me. "Are you still mad at me, Emily?"

I shook my head. "No, but you need to think about how you talk to people. Disrespect will only earn you disrespect in turn, Peyton."

She began swinging her legs. "That makes sense. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," I returned before rubbing her back. "I shouldn't have lost my temper."

Peyton turned her face to the sky. "Do you ever want to fly away like a bird?"

I smiled and brushed her hair back from her face. "Constantly."

"Me too," she confided. "Emily, don't be mad, but I want to tell you something."

"Okay."

Peyton looked my way with naked, child-like honesty on her face. "You know I hear things, right?"

I snorted a laugh. "Oh yeah."

"Uncle Sal has made comments about your friend."

"Oswald?"

She nodded. "Oswald isn't a nice man, Emily. He is bad."

I managed a smile and rubbed her back. "I understand that, Peyton."

"Do you?" Peyton asked me in a small, urgent voice. "Bad men can't be trusted. I'm afraid that man will do horrible things to you, Emily."

The genuine caring that she displayed touched me. I gave her a smacking kiss on the cheek and managed a tight smile. "Oswald will never hurt me."

"He already has," she replied. "You aren't happy anymore." Peyton stood and started hopping back and forth in front of the bench. "Can I play hopscotch?"

I nodded. "Go for it. Just stay over here." I indicated a spot less than ten feet away where several other little girls were playing games.

Peyton smiled and dashed toward them.

No sooner than she had left a male figure lowered himself to the unoccupied seat beside me. Bundled in a charcoal trench coat and looking miserably cold, James Gordon turned to face me. His deep eyes were surprisingly lacking in the judgmental air he used on me previously.

I raised one eyebrow. "Detective Gordon," I greeted briskly. "Aren't you a little out of your territory?"

He grunted softly. "I didn't think public parks belonged to anyone in particular."

"No," I agreed pleasantly. "That being said, I rarely see GCPD in Sean Riley's neighborhoods. Mr. Riley takes care of problems on his turf without police help. Even Harvey doesn't venture into this part of town."

Gordon shrugged. "Maybe I was in the mood for a walk."

I turned in his direction. "Let's cut to the chase. What do you want?"

The cold had chaffed Gordon's cheeks red as well as the tips of his ears. He held himself erect like a soldier might, but in those velvet eyes I detected a hint of vulnerability. "Information… you must have heard what happened at the station."

My eyebrows rose. "Ah, yes, Mr. Zsasz came to see you. I did hear rumors to that effect."

"I need to know if Falcone ever goes back on his word."

I was mildly surprised at the question. "I've only seen Falcone once and that was at a distance. My history with his people is spotty at best. You should really ask Harvey – he knows a lot more than I do on this particular subject."

Gordon swallowed thickly and turned away from me to look out at the children.

"Oh dear," I pronounced. "Harvey's still mad."

"He called me a douchebag with the higher moral ground a few weeks back." He fell quiet a moment. "Ever since we dealt with Falcone face to face Harvey has been polite but completely focused on work."

Angling my body toward him, I scooted closer and settled an arm around his shoulders. "Do you see the little blonde girl with the lemon-colored jacket?"

Gordon nodded. "Yeah."

"Keep your eyes on her," I advised. "You _are_ a douchebag, but this city could use a few more like you. Harvey will forgive you in his own good time for dragging him into your problems. I still suggest that you have a sit down and ask him about Falcone. When I worked homicide, I really didn't have many dealings with his people. I can speculate all day long but it would be just that – speculation. Why are you worried about Falcone? What did he promise you?"

Gordon began to turn his head toward me.

"Uh, uh," I cautioned. "Eyes on the girl." Gordon's head snapped back to the children. "What did Falcone promise you?"

"Nothing," Gordon retorted bitterly. "He simply let Bullock and I go."

"Even though you didn't kill Oswald?"

"Yeah," he returned tightly.

I released a sigh. "Unusual, but Falcone has his reasons I'm certain. Talk to Harvey."

"My girlfriend left me," Gordon's jaw clenched and a vein began dancing in his temple. "She had been threatened by Zsasz. I'm worried since I haven't heard from her in days."

Placing my fingers under his chin, I slowly turned his head until our eyes met; the beginnings of stubble rasping against my fingertips. "The one thing I can assure you is that Victor Zsasz wouldn't dare cross Falcone. He holds the old man in high regard or at least that's what the word on the street is. Whatever is going on with your girl, I doubt Falcone or Zsasz have anything to do with it." I sank back from him. "Sorry I can't be of more help."

He stared at me a beat longer before rising to his feet. "Believe it or not, you did help."

"Don't go spreading that around," I joked. "I don't want to end up like poor Oswald."

Gordon's expression became shuttered. "Are you involved with him?"

"That would be telling," I advised in a sharp voice. "Police are notoriously gossipy as I well know. The last person in the world I need riding my ass is Harvey."

"You really care about Bullock."

"Oh please, give me a break."

Gordon's face etched into a small smile. "Deny it all you like, but it bleeds through loud and clear."

"Hit the road," I muttered. "You're giving me a migraine."

He smirked broadly. "I still don't like you."

"The feeling is mutual."

"Good."

"Exactly," I spat in return.

Gordon shook his head and wandered down the path toward the main road.

* * *

><p>Music was playing low in the background and I was swaying gently in Oswald's arms. Dancing was almost impossible due to the permanent damage to his leg; the pain tormented him. He would hold me close, bury his face in my neck, and sway us back and forth.<p>

My hands grasped his lapels as I rested my cheek against the side of his head.

We had been embracing for just under thirty minutes when I finally found my voice.

"Oswald."

"Hmm?" He murmured against my throat.

I sighed. "Can I ask you for a favor?"

Oswald raised his head and studied my eyes; his own expression one of concern. "Certainly."

"It has to do with your mother…"

He released a soft, frustrated groan. "I know," Oswald acknowledged with a quick nod. "My mother is quite the handful. I apologize for whatever foolishness she spouted."

"May I be frank with you?"

"I would prefer honesty, yes."

I cleared my throat. "Oswald, your mother needs mental help."

He stopped the swaying motion of his body and his mouth tightened into a hard, unpleasant line. "What did she say to you?"

"She accused me of being a floozy who was trying to steal you away from her."

A sharp laugh escaped his throat as his cheeks tinted pink. "Ma has some abandonment issues. I'm certain the language she used was stern in tone and a bit more on the colorful side. I'm very sorry."

"Oswald," I laid one hand on his cheek. "She's in love with you. I think she needs some help."

Oswald became very still and stared at me; his lips curling and disbelief in the depths of his eyes. "Emily, I know my mother is a little peculiar…"

"She all but said it out loud," I clarified. "Your mother is jealous in the manner of a wife or long-time girlfriend, not in a motherly way. Her actions were beyond the pale. Mothers don't act this way with their sons, my mother didn't treat my brother or his girlfriends this way."

He swallowed; the sound thick and loud. "I've never… there is nothing between us… improperly between us…"

"Not on your part," I whispered. "She needs help – she's a very sick woman."

Oswald stepped back from me so suddenly, I nearly fell. He ran his hands over his face before dropping to the bed. "My father died when I was young and Ma was always overprotective. She loves me." He tossed his hands into the air and flashed a helpless look in my direction. "What would you have me do? Let her rot in isolation?"

"I don't know," I offered honestly. "I think a good first step would be to stop giving her outrageously expensive gifts worthy of a lover. Keeping me away would be a good idea. I thought for a minute she was going to scratch my eyes out."

He stared hard at me; horror widening his eyes. "Ma tried to attack you?"

"She pursued me as I tried to leave, but she didn't actually attack me. The threat was present."

Oswald sighed tiredly and shook his head. "I knew it wasn't a good idea to send you. Forgive my foolishness."

I sank down onto the mattress beside him. "There's nothing to forgive."

He took my hand and pressed his cool lips against my wrist before rubbing my palm against his cheek. "I love you." Oswald's voice was soft.

I remained quiet as he pressed kisses against my palm, but I wondered if he knew deep down that his mother coveted him in an incestuous way. Another part of me wondered if Oswald hadn't played off the sickness of his only parent and legal guardian over the years to get his own way.

In the end, I tucked away the thought for a darker time to be reexamined if need be.


	24. Chapter 24

**Thanks Jotunheim Storm, JuJuGirl, lulu2613, Persephoniii, FuchsiaGrasshopper, Franny C, Adreena, and Daniella for taking the time to review.**

**Warning: Semi-lemon ahead.**

* * *

><p>Rain was pelting the windows in a steady, strong pace that matched Oswald's. Every muscle in his body flexed and released sinuously as he moved against me. Light and shadow played across his pale flesh as he panted; driving his hips against mine in tight, concentric circles. Oswald was kneeling on the bed, lifting one of my legs so it rested on his shoulder.<p>

The slap of flesh echoed through the room with harsh panting and soft moans.

Oswald's face was contorted as he dragged his cheek against my calf; the beginnings of his whiskers rasping against my skin. His eyes were rolling up into his head as he drove his cock deep into me. A groan escaped his throat as Oswald's head fell back.

I visualized Oswald splayed out across the bed on his belly while I fucked his ass with my fingers; soft whimpers and harsh breathing escaping his throat as I took him more intimately than he had ever known.

Biting down on my lip, I writhed as white hot pleasure pulsed through me.

Feeling my orgasm, his eyes fluttered open and he watched me come greedily.

"I want to suck you," I gasped as he began a harsh, pounding rhythm.

Oswald shook his head, pressing hot, nipping kisses against my calf as he reached down with his free hand to gently squeeze his own testicles. "No," he groaned. "I want to come _in_ you."

I was still on fire as he fucked me ruthlessly. "Please… let me suck you… feel you come in my mouth…"

As we explored one another, I discovered Oswald loved bestowing oral sex on me. He rarely tired and used his tongue like a finely honed tool. Playing with my breasts seemed to give him pleasure, but administering oral gratification drove him mad – once he even came with his hands gripping my thighs and his tongue buried deep within my body.

The funny thing was Oswald would let me suck and lick his cock for small amounts of time. He seemed to enjoy it, but wanted to tolerate the attention for a little while before shifting the focus to me. I asked him repeatedly about the situation and he would blush a lovely mottled beet red and brushed aside answering.

He shook his sweat-soaked face desperately. "Lark…" Oswald moaned followed by a deep groan of satisfaction.

I released a soft whimper as he thrust home hard and went stiff; his eyes wide and staring down at me as his hot, wet seed spurted against my womb. His mouth fell open as he heaved in great, gasping breaths before pressing warm, open-mouthed kisses against my leg.

Oswald slowly pulled his softening flesh from my body. Wiping a hand over his face, he stared at the sweat for a moment before collapsing on his back beside me. "That was perfect," he muttered in a soft, tired voice. "Let me hold you."

I turned and rested my head on his shoulder. He settled his arm around my shoulders and kissed the crown of my head. Kissing his chest, I glanced up at him. The glow of pleasure still lit Oswald's pale, pointed face. He stared at the darkened ceiling above us and let his fingers skim along my arm.

"Can I ask you a question?"

Oswald glanced lazily in my direction. "Go ahead."

"Did you have a girlfriend growing up?"

Oswald's face went slack and his skin, even in the dim light filtering through the window, turned a dull red. "E-excuse me?"

I paused and repeated the question.

He stared at me a long time. "Did you have a boyfriend?" Oswald flung at me.

"Yes," I answered. "But it was all rather innocent – just eating pizza and holding hands."

Oswald turned his gaze back to the ceiling. "Ma rarely left the apartment so no. I needed to stay with her. She was lonely after my father died."

I was surprised. "You were a teenage boy. You spent all your time at home. What about socializing? Hell, what about masturbating?"

A dark frown graced his features. "I had quite enough socializing at school. As for the other, I can see you never made it inside the apartment the other day. There is no shower – only a clawfoot tub in the center of an open bathroom. Even the toilet and sink are out in the open; though Ma has a folding screen she uses."

"Your bedroom?"

He blinked hard. "We shared a bedroom."

I sat up and rested my hand over his heart. "You shared a bedroom with your mother for all those years?"

"Not to worry," Oswald muttered. "We had separate beds. It was perfectly innocent."

"How did you ever get satisfaction?"

A cruel smile curled his lips up. "I didn't if you must know. The first time I ever _masturbated_ was once I moved out."

"You must have had an erection, that's normal for a teenage boy." I was shocked by what he was telling me. "Did you just lay there and suffer?"

"Essentially," Oswald replied curtly. "Why are you so interested? I'm able to give you release and you enjoy it. I don't understand the fuss. Have I displeased you somehow?"

Rising up on my elbow, I kissed him softly. "No, no Oswald."

He studied me and pulled tresses of hair over my shoulder. "Please," Oswald pleaded softly. "The questions are humiliating."

"I don't mean to embarrass you. I'm trying to figure out why you won't let me give you oral sex."

Oswald snorted softly. "Your fixation with my cock is both flattering and disturbing."

"What can I say? I adore every part of you." I grinned and tickled him under the chin.

He finally smiled; his sharp blue-green eyes alight with warmth. "Perhaps I could be persuaded to accept your devotionals."

"Oh really?" I teased.

Oswald laughed and rolled me under him; his fingers going for my ribs. "Really…"

A loud trilling came from somewhere beside the bed.

"It's not mine…" I started.

"… it's mine," he finished lamely with a roll of the eyes.

I watched him turn and lean over his side of the bed; his arms working madly as he sorted through his clothes. Once he was careful and particular about folding every item, but now he stripped and scattered everything.

Finally he had the phone and flipped it open with annoyance. "Yes?"

I propped my chin in my hand and watched as Oswald turned; settling himself against the headboard as he listened to the party on the other end speaking. His eyebrows arched before drawing together in a clear display of extreme displeasure.

"I'll be there as soon as possible, Don Maroni." Oswald's voice was diffident with a core of steel. "Whoever did this should be punished, I agree wholeheartedly." He ended the call and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I have to leave, Lark, I'm sorry."

"What happened?"

He shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Someone shot Danny Amanti and his family in their home. Merry Christmas, you're dead." Oswald forced himself from the bed and began to dress. "Amanti is one of Maroni's nephews. People have no sense of propriety anymore. There was a time that touching a man's family was considered a cardinal sin, but now no rules need apply. I find it distressing."

I sat and accepted the gentle kiss Oswald pressed against my lips.

"Was it one of Falcone's people?"

He looked thoughtful. "I doubt it. Don Falcone frowns upon hits on women and children are strictly forbidden. Amanti wasn't very well liked, I'm afraid. We have a large candidate pool to choose from."

I frowned and watched him shrug into his overcoat. "Be careful."

Oswald smiled and let his fingers skate across my cheek before pulling back. "I will. My role isn't on the front line as it were; I'm more involved in planning. You show some care as well, Lark. I expect you'll be hearing from Mr. Riley in short order. Maroni and Riley are thick as thieves and they'll throw all their resources into finding the culprit."

Not five minutes after Oswald's hasty departure, my phone began softly trilling from my pile of clothes.

"Hello?"

"I hope I didn't disturb you," Sean Riley's Irish brogue was soft against my ear. "There has been an incident and I could use your help."

I finished wrapping my robe around me. "What happened?"

"Don Maroni's nephew, wife, and six year old son were murdered in their home." Riley released a deep, pained sigh. "Sal is on the warpath, I'm afraid. Can I persuade you to check in with your sources at the GCPD before Sal does something stupid?"

"Of course," I began my mental calculations. "When did the murders occur? Homicide might still be on scene."

"Earlier this morning."

"Give me the nephew's name and address."

"Danny Amanti, 18891 Southview Avenue."

"I'm on it."

Hanging up and tossing the cell phone on the bed, I rushed into the bathroom for a shower.

* * *

><p>Alvarez was on scene. He had been the homicide detective assigned the Amanti murder case. The guy was so overburdened, I was surprised. Being that I had been gone from the department for months, I chalked the assignment up to changes for the better at homicide.<p>

He was drinking coffee and listening to the CSI on duty.

No Ed Nygma – that boded ill. Nygma was a bit odd, but he was the most brilliant crime scene technician the department had.

I stood to the side, just behind the crime scene tape, directly in Alvarez's line of sight.

When he finally looked up, his dark eyes grew wide. He muttered something to the CSI before making his way over. "Jesus, I haven't seen you in ages, Maguire. You look like shit."

"Gee thanks," I managed a tight little smile. "I was pressed on time so no makeup."

He snorted. "At least use some concealer under the eyes, girl. You have some baggage going on. What can I do for you, Maguire? I know this isn't a social call."

"I was wondering if we could talk about what happened to the Amanti family."

Alvarez froze like a deer in the headlights. He choked on his coffee and spat a mouthful to the sidewalk. Pacing back and forth, he rubbed the nape of his neck. Finally, he pulled me under the yellow tape before ushering me to the side of the Amanti house.

"What I tell you is strictly confidential," Alvarez wagged a finger under my nose. "No running to Salvatore Maroni."

I nodded. "I have no intention of speaking to Maroni or any of his people." Which was _technically_ true and I didn't feel like a giant fibber.

"If you aren't asking on Maroni's behalf, who are you asking for?"

"A party who is interested in the matter." I crossed my arms over my chest. "Do you have any leads?"

Alvarez snorted. "Are you nuts?! Amanti was a giant prick! Nobody liked this guy… _nobody_. Half of Gotham wanted this dumb shit dead. I'm going to be pulling an all-nighter just to question the obvious suspects."

I giggled. "Marisol will be calling Harvey again, only this time you'll really be innocent."

"Yuck it up," He jerked his chin at me. "See if I tell you anything else."

It took a minute before I regained some semblance of control. "I'm sorry," I was still grinning. "Did you at least end up with a witness?"

Alvarez sighed. "The old lady next door was up early because of constipation. She heard the shots and saw a short white guy wearing fatigues jump into a brown sedan with no tags." He began muttering in Spanish and shaking his head. "The killer spent maybe five minutes in the house."

"Sounds like a professional job," I offered.

He rolled his eyes. "I know that, Maguire. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

I smiled and shook my head. "Tell Harvey I said hello."

Alvarez followed me back to the crime tape and lifted it for me. "Get lost, Maguire, and invest in that concealer."

I flashed him the middle finger and he chuckled before walking towards one of the uniform officers. I waited until I rounded the block before pulling out my mobile phone. Punching numbers with my thumb, I waited.

"Hello Emily," Sean's accented voice was like honey against my ear. "I hope you have good news."

"That depends on how you see things," I began quietly. "You're looking for a short white male wearing military fatigues last seen leaving this neighborhood in a brown sedan with no tags. There is an accomplice driving the vehicle. Vague at best, but this smells like a professional hit."

"Yes it does. Amanti lives on the cusp of my turf. I'll put the word out and see if anyone turns up. Thank you, Emily."

I stashed the phone back in my pocket and took a deep breath. Perhaps I might be able to wrangle some help from a different source.

* * *

><p>Sitting on the fancy leather sofa looking out the huge windows at the Gotham skyline, I admired the penthouse apartment. Crossing one leg over the other I took a drink of the whiskey I poured for myself earlier. Waiting has never been my strong suit and sitting around in a place as silent as the tomb wasn't making me any happier. I wished I could have started a fire, but with my luck I would have probably burned the entire building to the ground.<p>

Sadly, I decided it was best for as few people as possible to see me in the company of this particular individual.

Swiping a picture frame from the coffee table, I stared hard at the couple smiling at one another.

My eyebrows rose and I shook my head before setting the frame back down.

A lock sounded in the door. I listened as the door opened and shut softly followed by a strong stride against the marble floor. Straightening my spine, I took another dose of the burning liquor before setting the expensive crystal tumbler on the coffee table.

"What the hell are _you_ doing here?!"

I turned and smiled at James Gordon – he stood in the center of the living room with his gun drawn and pointed at my head. The expression on his face was a mix of disgust and pure outrage. I didn't blame him a bit. It was a very disconcerting feeling to find someone in your apartment upon returning home.

"I thought we might have a chat."

Gordon looked taken aback; his lip curled as though someone stuffed his head in a dirty toilet. "What?! Have you lost your mind, Maguire? I could arrest you right now for breaking and entering."

I shrugged. "Yes, but I think we have a real chance to mend some fences and help one another out."

He shook his head like a dog with a tick in his ear as he lowered the gun. "Maybe I should save myself some grief and just shoot you."

"Nice, civilized men don't go around shooting their friends."

Gordon rolled his eyes and turned away from me; rubbing his forehead. "Oh Christ, the day has been too long to deal with this crap. We are _not_ friends. Not. Friends." He waited a moment. "Do you understand?"

"I understand perfectly, Gordon. Remember, I don't like you either. I was just trying to be pleasant."

He turned abruptly wearing a stumped expression. "Why?"

"I need help."

James Gordon just stared at me.

I nodded and smiled in return.

"No!" He pointed at me. "No. No. No. A hundred times – _NO!_ I have enough problems without you hanging around my neck like a millstone, Maguire."

My smile only grew larger.

Gordon groaned in response. "You're not going to leave, are you?"

I shook my head.

"I could shoot you."

"You already would have if you really meant it."

"I'll have you arrested."

I tilted my head and gave him the _'oh please'_ expression.

James Gordon paced back and forth running a hand over his head. "Why aren't you calling Harvey? Isn't he your pal?"

"Precisely the reason I'm not calling him," I breathed softly over Jim's shoulder.

He stumbled back and holstered his weapon. "Do you want me to shoot you?" Gordon drew in a deep breath and studied me as I took a step closer to him. "Maguire, what the hell do you want? It has to be something big if you broke into my place. I'm not a dirty cop so your chances of help are dismal."

"This isn't really your place, is it?" He winced and I smiled; circling him like a shark circles a wounded seal. "I had no idea you had a fetish for lesbians, Jimmy-boy."

Gordon looked like I slapped him in the face. "I don't…"

"You're dating one," I stated brightly. "Although, technically, Miss Kean can be considered bi-sexual if she's been balling you in her spare time."

"You're disgusting," he stated quietly; his face devoid of color.

"I have my moments." We were standing less than an inch apart staring one another down. "If you think _real_ hard, I bet you can figure out where your girlfriend is. Detective Montoya has always been _persuasive_."

A tic formed under his left eye. He swallowed and stared down at me with pain in those big, pretty eyes. "Why are you doing this?"

"I need you to call down to the police impound lot and ask if a late model brown sedan with no plates is on their list."

"No."

I crossed the room and picked up the phone. "Make the call, Jim. We both know this will get ugly if you don't."

He remained right where he was as though carved from granite.

I put the phone back down and crossed the room. Walking behind him, I leaned against his back and felt him flinch. "Stubborn is a quality I like." Resting my chin on his shoulder, I let my arm snake around his waist. "You are a good man… you remind me of my father. Funny old world, don't you think? I prefer not to share the reason for my request because I don't want you involved."

"I'm involved if I make the call." He smelled of delightful – understated musk tones.

"No," I replied softly. "I need to follow a hunch and the only paths open are you and Harvey."

He snatched my wrist and held my arm away from him; curious that he made no move to shove me away. "Why didn't you call Harvey?"

"As fond of Harvey as I am, to a certain extent he owes allegiances to Don Falcone. You don't oh St. Jim the Pious."

He turned and grabbed me by both biceps; his grip strong enough to keep me in place but not to bruise. "Tell me why you need the information and I'll make the call."

"What guarantee do I have of your silence?"

"None," he replied.

James Gordon drove a hard bargain. I admired him for it in a sick way. "There was a murder earlier this morning of a family which included a six year old boy. This had the earmarks of a professional hit. I want to see if the car came from the impound lot…"

"Because if it came from the impound lot more than likely the killer was a cop," he finished in a tired voice.

"And we both know if the killer is a cop the shit will hit the fan in a very big, very _bad_ way."

Gordon released me and pulled out his cell phone. He made the call and when he hung up the dazed look on his face told me everything.

"Fuck."

He grunted in agreement.

I ran my hands over my face and took a deep breath. "Okay, so this is like ripping off a Band-Aid. Now I know the culprit is GCPD. That means the hit was likely sanctioned by someone high up the food chain. Thanks for your help." I rubbed my hands together awkwardly. "And thanks for the drink."

Gordon stared at me like another head had popped out of my shoulder. "You're just going to leave."

"That's the plan so far. Oh, you might want to finish my drink. It's a shame to toss perfectly good Drambuie down the sink – that's some expensive shit. Besides, I don't have cooties…"

He stepped in front of me deliberately. "I can help you."

Nerves struck me and I laughed. "If only I was single and didn't despise you, I'm sure you could. I must be going…" I attempted to step around him and Gordon simply shifted to prevent me. "I really have to get out of here."

"Why won't you let me help you, Maguire?" His expression was compassionate and irritated all in one.

Gordon really did remind me of my father, a good man who always made a stand for what was right. Good men ended up dead in Gotham just like my father did. I was never truly attracted to men like James Gordon, oh years ago I might have slept with Gordon if the circumstances were right, but nothing long term could ever come from a man like him. He was already dead; he just didn't know it yet.

I tried to move and he reached out and cupped my face.

"Please, let me help you." He was staring me deep in the eye in a way not even Oswald had. "I believe as big a pain in the ass as you are - under that tough act is a very scared girl who wants help."

Tears shimmered in my eyes distorting his features. "You can't help me."

"Maguire…"

"Nobody can help me," I blinked back the tears threatening to humiliate me. "My choices have been made. Let me go."

Gordon released me and stepped back so I had a clear shot to the door. He rested his hands on his hips. "If you ever change your mind about needing some help, call me."

I nodded before practically fleeing his presence.

* * *

><p>Waiting to see Sean Riley, I stared out the windows at the skyline of Gotham.<p>

The look on Jim Gordon's face when he offered to help me was haunting. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't forget the earnestness of the man's eyes. The truth of my life came down upon me like a landslide during my dealings with Gordon.

I had deliberately stepped into the darkness of Gotham to avoid ever feeling the pain I had in losing my father and the light of his life. Good men were swept away, but bad men stood resolute in Gotham. In choosing Oswald Cobblepot, I chose a perceived strength and pushed away my own weaknesses.

"Mr. Riley will see you now, Miss Maguire."

Once I walked into Riley's office, I was deliberately taking part in the bloodbath to follow.

For a long moment, I stayed put before turning on my heel and striding confidently through Riley's open door.


	25. Chapter 25

**Thanks to Jotunheim Storm, lulu2613, Marie, Franny C, Persephoniii, and JuJuGirl for reviewing! :)**

**A/N: This is my last update until next week so everyone have a Happy Holiday!**

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><p>The last person I expected to see in Don Maroni's office was Lark in the company of none other than Sean Riley. She was quiet and subdued with a pale face free of makeup and her mirrored aviator glasses hiding her eyes. She was dressed in her typical work clothes – dark wash jeans, dark turtleneck, leather jacket, and the designer boots she favored with the low, chunky heels. With her hair pulled into a simple French braid, Lark looked like an uptown girl just hanging around for the day.<p>

Listening to Maroni's inane babblings and vile threats against whoever killed his nephew and his family had started to get under my skin. After a few hours, I was ready to slit my own wrists. For the most part, I liked Salvatore Maroni, but my allegiance was elsewhere so maintaining an emotional detachment was a necessity.

Said emotional detachment was difficult to maintain when Maroni was shoving pictures of the dead little boy in my face. People believe I have no heart – this is a complete fallacy. I have feelings like everyone else. Seeing the innocent face of a child I knew was cold-bloodedly murdered disturbed me deep down into my bones.

Even I had my limitations – murdering children was one of them.

Keeping Maroni calm had been a challenge; he was ready to destroy the city in order to find the people responsible for the Amanti killings. Don Falcone needed to be apprised that retribution would be swift and unyielding.

Falcone, I knew, had nothing to do with the Amanti murders. He was old school and old world and he might threaten a man's woman to gain the upper hand, but murdering children was not something Falcone endorsed.

Racking my brain to think of any way to avoid Maroni losing it, I was extremely grateful to see Riley.

My heart sank a little to see Lark in tow. I desired to keep her out of the situation as much as possible after her reaction to Timothy's fate. The last thing she needed, or me for that matter, was to end up tangled in a scenario that ended badly.

Maroni's bloodshot eyes lightened upon taking in his friend. He stood and shook Riley's hand. "My brother, it's good of you to come."

Riley's voice, smooth as the finest melody, poured over me. "I'm here to help and lend you comfort in this time of grief. I brought Emily along – I'm certain you remember her."

Nodding, Maroni took her hand in his. "How could I forget someone so lovely? Thank you for being here, Miss Maguire."

I vacated my chair in order for Mr. Riley and Lark to sit as was polite and proper.

Riley was composed and drummed his fingertips steadily against the armrest of his chair. "We have information that indicates the murderer is a cop. I think it would be wise to contact Don Falcone and ask him to intervene in the matter with the GCPD."

The police belonged to Falcone; everyone in the criminal underworld knew this. Falcone derived a great deal of his power from being able to direct the police in whatever direction suited him. Not to mention that rivals, such as Maroni, had to pay Falcone either monetarily or with favors in order to deal with police issues.

For a cop to be the hitman was very bad news.

I would need to contact Don Falcone.

Maroni's face grew violently red. "Some pig kills members of my blood family and you think I'm gonna go crawling to Falcone? Screw that. I want the sonofabitch who did this. He will squeal on the others and then I'll gut him and whoever ordered this."

"How do you know the police are involved?" I asked politely.

Riley tilted his head toward Lark.

She glanced at me and I was reflected in the lenses of her sunglasses. "I made a few discreet inquiries and the getaway car was impounded by the city. The vehicle was signed out before the killing and only a member of the GCPD would be able to get a vehicle out and return it."

"The police are notoriously corrupt," I offered. "Perhaps the officers at impound were paid handsomely to allow someone to drive off with the sedan."

A cold smile played across Lark's lips. "I wish that were so. I asked a friend to review the security footage for this morning. The individual signing out the car is a cop." She reached into her coat and pulled out a still frame photo obviously printed off from the footage. "I'm not familiar with this guy, but he is a uniform."

I stared at the picture. Sure enough, a patrol officer fitting the general description of the killer was standing at the impound gate signing paperwork. "How did you get this without visiting the impound lot?"

"A hacker whose sister was murdered a few years back was able to insert himself into the GCPD system. He was very appreciative when I arrested his sister's killer. We have this photo but no name unless we can get someone at the lot to hand over the paperwork."

Maroni began waving his hand so I handed him the photo. He frowned and slapped the picture on his desk. "Why can't we have your hacker buddy break into the system and get this asshole's name?"

"We can," Lark answered quietly. "But not until tomorrow. The information won't be updated on the system until after midnight. GCPD computer systems are antiquated in some respects."

My respect for Lark's capabilities was ratcheting upward even as I grew unsettled.

Falcone had to be notified since he alone gave the order to execute members of the GCPD. If Maroni killed a cop, even the murderer of a child, without Falcone's express permission it would be taken as a sign of great disrespect.

An all-out gang war was to be avoided at all costs. No one wanted a blood bath that could involve the everyday citizens of the city – such actions would cause unrest and demands for change.

"Don Maroni, with all due respect," I began as softly as possible. "We should contact Falcone and ask him to deal with this person."

"Shut up," Maroni roared. "I want this fucker's blood! His and whoever ordered the killing!"

Riley glanced my way and his gaze held some modicum of respect. He turned toward Maroni. "Sal, my brother, I have to agree with Mr. Cobblepot. Falcone has sway with the police and there is no way he sanctioned the hit on a kid. The old man will deal with this swiftly."

A muscle worked in Maroni's jaw. "I need to be with my family, Sean." He looked toward me. "Set up a meeting. Sean will be taking my place. I have a funeral to plan."

Sean nodded serenely. "I'll be happy to meet with Don Falcone."

Maroni gave a quick nod.

The meeting was officially over and I stared at Lark the entire time we walked out of Maroni's office suite. She glanced at me only once before getting on the elevator with Riley. As the lift doors closed, I had only one thought.

_Lark will make a magnificent weapon one day._

* * *

><p>Neutral ground was the waterfront.<p>

Don Falcone was flanked by Fish Mooney who gave me the proverbial look of death. Behind him stood several armed guards and many more that could not be seen, I had no doubt.

I stood just behind Sean Riley and Lark stood to the rear of me along with a combination of Maroni and Riley's own armed guards.

Falcone seemed grave as he faced the younger Irishman. "Sean, we meet once more. It has been far too long, my friend, and I am heartily sorry for the circumstances. The death of innocent women and children is reprehensible."

"I agree, Don Falcone," Sean replied quietly. "Don Maroni sends his regrets, but he needs to be with his family at this tragic time. I have brought a gift out of respect." He waved at Lark who came forward with a briefcase which was deposited in Fish Mooney's hands.

The look on Fish's face gave me more pleasure than most people could ever dream. She stared at Lark in utter disbelief and my beautiful girl returned to her position behind me. Everyone knew Emily Maguire worked for Sean Riley, but the difference between her as a cop and Riley's employee was marked.

Lark held a dark aura that was palpable.

It gave me pleasure to see Fish was affected to some degree by it.

Don Falcone nodded. "Don Maroni's gift touches me deeply. I was grieved to hear a member of the GCPD was responsible for such carnage. My opinions on such actions are well known as are consequences. Fish, who was the officer involved?"

"Roger Tate," she answered coolly.

Falcone studied Riley carefully. "Officer Tate must be punished as well as the individual driving the car and whoever paid them. Would you prefer my people take care of this? I would be happy to ask Mr. Zsasz to collect the individuals and mete out justice."

Riley smiled; a cold, frightening expression devoid of mercy. "We deeply appreciate your offer, Don Falcone. However, we would like to handle this. Don Maroni wishes to dispatch the person who gave the order personally."

"Might I inquire who you are assigning the task of collecting Officer Tate?" Falcone asked. "I will see to it this person is not hampered in their efforts."

Riley held out his arm. "Emily, come up here please."

My jaw almost hit the ground as Lark brushed by me and came to stand beside Sean Riley.

"Emily Maguire," Riley announced. "She was GCPD at one time and works as a member of my security detail. I have every confidence that Miss Maguire will collect Officer Tate with as little damage as possible."

Falcone's expression was unreadable – even to me and I had become something of an expert. He tilted his head and studied her closely. "Are you feeling up to the task young lady?"

Lark nodded. "I am, Don Falcone."

He merely nodded and she was dismissed back to her position behind me. "Miss Maguire is not to be molested in any manner as she attempts to bring Officer Tate to heel. Be sure word is passed along, Fish."

Mooney's smile was so pained and forced, I actually worried her face might crack. "Of course, Don Falcone."

Falcone seemed pleased. "Go in peace, Sean."

Riley gave a gracious, respectful nod and we were headed to the cars.

I watched Lark the entire time and she never once looked my way.

* * *

><p>Visiting my mother was dangerous business ergo why I sent Lark in my stead.<p>

However, Ma's outright spitefulness toward my chosen partner left me little choice than to make an unexpected visit to her abode. Being certain I was dressed elegantly, I set out in the middle of the night. I took the most twisted, convoluted route possible to mother's apartment building.

Knocking, I stepped back so she could see me clearly through the peep hole.

Within minutes the door was thrown open and I was ushered inside Ma's old-fashioned bower.

She threw her arms around my neck and hugged me tightly. "My sweet boy has come to see me." Large, exaggerated kisses were pressed against my cheeks. I could almost hear the echo of Lark's voice telling me that my own mother was in love with me. "I have missed you terribly."

I brushed her hands from my person as kindly as possible. "I'm sorry, Ma. I honestly didn't think my work schedule would allow me to come."

"Restaurant must be very _busy_," she intoned gravely; her blue eyes filled with appraisal. "You no come to see your own mother and send the painted hussy instead."

Unexpected anger rushed through my veins; my hands balled into fists. I had to force my body to relax as her eyes narrowed shrewdly. I shook my head. "Business is quite brisk. I'm gaining a measure of respect so I need to keep pressing. Laziness on my part would be a disaster. Did you like my gift?"

She fished the emerald from the depths of her long, nun-like nightgown that did nothing to shield her ponderous, hanging breasts from my gaze. Dangling the emerald and diamond pendant, she smiled broadly. "I love necklace. You are the best son. I think you spend too much. Be frugal with your finances or you end up like your father."

The mere thought of my father sent me into a sour mood.

I nodded absently. "I won't be able to return until after the holidays."

Ma slowly let the pendant fall against her chest where it gleamed and sparkled in the low light. "Why you send that hussy here? She try to tell me lies."

Irritation was bubbling inside of me. "Oh really, Ma? What type of lie did she tell you?"

Anger and disappointment lent her face even more age. She hadn't been a young woman when I was born and the years had not been kind to her. Ma stood a bit straighter. "Whore tells me she works with you, but I know better. No woman with designer shoes works in restaurant." Tears shimmered in her eyes and I steeled myself for what was coming. "You sleep with this _slut_ and send her to my home?"

The slap caught me across the left cheekbone; my skin stinging in the aftermath of her strike.

"How could you?"

I did not indulge my desire to rub the affected area. "Ma, my romantic life is _not_ you affair. I'm a grown man and Emily is a good woman. If you had treated her with decency, I think you would have seen her in a different light."

Ma released a deep sigh born of unspeakable grief. "I tell her – my son will always come back to me. He will never love you as he does me. She is not worth your time, Oswald. I can see this but you not so much. Thinking with your manhood… I'm ashamed of you."

My shoulders were stiff and I stared at her in a combination of revulsion and exasperation. "I'm a grown man, Ma. You need to let me behave like an adult human being."

She started to cry loudly, covering her face with her hands. "You do not love me, Oswald. A good boy loves his mother more than any woman."

I was torn – ripped in half. Part of me wanted to hold her and give her some sort of comfort while the angrier half wanted to strangle her. I was frozen to the spot staring at her.

Realizing if I stayed that I couldn't control my response, I stalked past her and straight out the apartment door. I slammed the door behind me and stalked toward the stairs as quickly as my bad leg would allow. I needed to remove myself from Ma's presence before I committed a rash act born from temporary insanity that I would most certainly regret later.

* * *

><p>Lark surprised me by meeting me on the roof of the Metropolitan Opera House.<p>

When I called her, I expected she would demure or outright refuse.

I sat on the lip of the roof looking down the fifteen story drop when I heard boots striding toward me. Turning, my head I watched her approach with a small grin coloring my lips. "You look lovely tonight."

She was wearing a white silk mini-dress that brushed against her tanned thighs mid-way. Lark had never been the sort to coop herself up in a tanning bed nor had she such color when I last saw her naked. That left only the possibility of a spray tan. The look gave her a healthy glow – I approved wholeheartedly.

The one thing I found questionable was her hair. Long, thick, and silky, my hands had spent quality time buried in those tresses. Instead, I was confronted with a short, thick bob that was fashionably mussed. A style that softened her jaw and gave her a sharp edge that had been missing before – it suited her.

I stood and held out my hand.

Lark laid her small hand in mine and I drew her close to me.

"You've shorn your lovely hair," I murmured as the light, sweet scent of vanilla sugar perfumed the air around me.

She nodded. "I needed to simplify a few things. Do you hate it?"

Surprisingly, I didn't. "No," I let my eyes drift over her; drinking her in. "You look beautiful. I was caught off guard yesterday by your offer to collect Officer Tate. After what happened with Timothy, I expected you to remain firmly on the sidelines."

Lark watched me closely. "I'm merely collecting Tate."

"He will die," I stated without preamble. "You must know this."

She didn't seem troubled. "He murdered a small child and an innocent woman for money. What happens to him now is his just dessert."

I nodded thoughtfully. Seeing her go through another crisis of conscience wasn't palatable to me. I needed her to be functioning at her highest level. Reaching out, I ran my knuckles along the silken column of her throat. "I thought we might enjoy an evening listening to _Madame Butterfly_. Being seen together in social situations isn't possible so this is the next best thing."

Lark smiled and pressed a soft kiss against my mouth. "We'll be able to hear the music?"

"Oh yes," I murmured; glorying in the warmth of her pressed up against me. "I used to sneak up here as a boy. We have the best seats in the house. Carlo is guarding the entrance until the performance concludes."

"Perfect," she breathed before wrapping her arms around my waist and resting her cheek against my shoulder. "I just want to hold you for a little while."

The music began; slowly drifting through the opera house's multiple vents and arriving unfiltered to surround us. The pure beauty of the music combined with the relatively mild night air and the lights from the buildings and streets around us provided a romantic backdrop.

No matter how long, or short, my life may be fated to be – I would _never_ forget that moment.


	26. Chapter 26

**Thanks to lulu2613, Jotunheim Storm, Persephoniii, FuchsiaGrasshopper, Franny C, JuJuGirl, and Lola93091** **for taking the time to review.**

**There are some twists and turns coming in the next few chapters for our lovebirds.**

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><p>The address for Roger Tate was beyond what I had expected for a uniform officer. My pay grade at GCPD as a detective was almost twice as much and I was scrimping by in this city before taking work with Riley. I raised one eyebrow as I studied the finely maintained brick façade of the brownstone row house. Living on the Upper East Side was <em>impossible<em> on Tate's salary.

This bastard had been dirty for a long time.

My worst nightmare became reality.

The front door of Tate's brownstone opened to allow a lovely woman in her mid-thirties to exit with two small boys on either side of her. Roger Tate stood, in his pajamas with coffee cup in hand, just inside the door. He kissed his wife and tousled the hair of the smaller boy.

_Motherfucker…_ I was beyond disgusted with Tate.

He had a wife and kids and he murdered the nephew of Don Maroni along with an innocent woman and child?

I shook my head and waited for the woman to make her way down to the street with her children in tow. This idiot could have gotten his entire family slaughtered for his foolishness! Now, Tate was going to end up dead and his family would be fatherless.

My stomach gurgled and bile pooled at the back of my throat.

Swallowing thickly, I leaned back against the car seat. Maroni had lent me a sedan in his fleet of vehicles. My head was spinning and I had to close my eyes for just a moment. Staying out late in the cold on the roof of the opera building hadn't been such a great idea. Oswald hadn't caught so much as a sniffle, but I felt like complete shit.

I stared at the material lining the roof of the car and frowned. Little pinpricks of brown littered the lighter fabric. _'How long ago was someone murdered who sat in this same seat?'_ Wiping a hand over my face, I shoved the thought aside as I got out of the car.

Casually, I checked my watch as I strolled down the street. I rounded the corner and headed for the small alley that backed onto the yards of all the brownstones on this block. My stomach gurgled angrily again…

The force of the cramps took me by surprise and the next thing I knew I was bent over at the waist vomiting into the bushes. I looked up and found a little boy staring at me through the slats of a nearby fence.

His plump, babyish features displayed a surprising amount of compassion. "You ate too much chocolate, huh?"

I wiped my mouth and nodded. "I sure did."

"Better stay away from the candy," he advised.

I agreed and gained my feet. Sucking in deep, cleansing breaths, I wiped away a sheen of sweat from my face. As soon as Tate's ass was turned over to Riley, I was heading to the clinic. Maybe they could get me some Tamiflu. I was fairly sure that I now had a case of the flu.

I forced my feet to keep moving until I stood directly behind the rear entrance to Tate's brownstone.

Swiftly, I pulled my gun and eased my way up the back stairs to the deck. A set of large French doors gave Tate the perfect view of his neighbors if he cared to look. Murmuring a silent prayer, I edged over and cautiously looked through the glass.

Roger Tate was seated at his kitchen table reading the newspaper with his back to me.

My eyes slid over the room and there were no reflective surfaces with a view of the doors. I eased over and _very_ carefully tried the door. I fought the urge to roll my eyes as it gave way soundlessly beneath my hand. Sliding in sideways, I wasted no time in stepping behind the idiot and pressing the business end of my semi-automatic pistol against the base of Tate's skull.

"Stand up very slowly or we're going to have a big problem here."

The man went stiff and the paper slid from his hands to the table. He lifted his arms to show me he had no weapon. "Lady, I don't know what the hell is going on here, but you're the one with the problem. I'm a member of the GCPD."

"I repeat: stand up slowly." I took a step back as he slid the chair back obediently.

Tate scoffed as he gained his feet. "You're one dead bitch. No one fucks with a cop and just walks away."

"Place your hands behind your back."

"Are you freaking kidding me?!" Tate shouted. "I'm not putting my hands behind my back."

My stomach clenched and I gritted my teeth against the sick feeling. "Do it or I'll put a bullet in your ass."

He spun and jabbed his elbow toward my chin. I jerked back, aimed at his knee, and pulled the trigger.

The tremendous explosion of the bullet leaving the chamber echoed in the room quickly followed by the sickening sound of lead striking flesh and bone and finally Tate's screams as he collapsed clutching his destroyed knee cap. I took a step back and pulled out my phone; choosing a familiar number and hitting speed dial.

"Yes?" Riley's voice was soft. "Is that Tate screaming?"

"Indeed it is. I just had to blow his patella to kingdom come. He's making a god-almighty racket. Can you get an extraction team out here?"

"Not likely, lass. Falcone okayed you coming into his territory to retrieve Tate – he gave no safe passage for any of my other people. Don't worry about his kneecap, darling. Once Sal gets to work Tate won't even realize the damned thing's gone."

I sighed. "Okay, I'll get him out. By the way, you didn't really make me feel any better."

Riley chuckled before going silent. "Seriously, if the bastard gives you any further trouble – blow his nuts off. He won't need them anyway."

I stared at the phone a moment before slipping it back into my pocket. "That was my boss," I advised the still screaming and swearing man writhing on the floor. "I've been given the green light to blow your testicles to hell if you give me any more grief. Do you understand?"

Tate nodded. "You fucking bitch!"

Searching his kitchen quickly, I snagged two dish towels. Securing Tate with my handcuffs, I stuffed one towel in his mouth and tied it behind his head. The other towel was tied around his shattered knee. I wiped my bloody hands on the seat of his pants.

My stomach writhed in warning. "Oh shit…" I puked bile all over Tate's gleaming hardwood floors.

I took the time to rinse my mouth before grabbing Tate by the ankles. "Okay, here we go! I won't lie – this is going to hurt." I dragged him toward the front door. There was no time to fuck around in case the cops had been called.

While Falcone had put out the word with GCPD that I wasn't to be stopped – I didn't want to put the loyalty of cops toward their brothers in blue to the test. There was always some numb nut hero wannabe in every group.

The worst part of the trip was dragging a struggling man twice my size across two lanes of traffic as he howled in agony through the gag. I barely managed not to get us both hit by cars. Opening the trunk, I took a deep breath and tried to pick up the bulk of the man fighting me; cuffed or not, Tate was just enough of a pain in the ass to make my job hell.

"Knock it off, dipshit!" I yelled.

A dark figure appeared beside me and a grim laugh echoed in my ears. "You look like you're in need of assistance."

I turned to find a tall, slim bald man not much older than me staring at Tate. My heart sank and I suddenly wanted to vomit again, but my stomach was well and truly empty. "Victor Zsasz."

Fathomless, pitiless dark eyes flickered from Tate's struggling figure to my face. He smiled and the expression was so cold, I nearly shivered. "Have we met previously, Miss Maguire? I'm certain I would remember someone so… charming," he cleared his throat. "Of course, my reputation does tend to precede me."

_What an arrogant psycho…_

His brow rose. "Hello? Anyone home? We don't exactly have all day. There are witnesses everywhere."

I simply nodded my head.

Zsasz smirked. "Kindly move aside."

I moved and he bent. Within seconds, Roger Tate was in my trunk.

Zsasz slammed the trunk and leaned against it; his arms crossed over his chest. "You put a bullet through Mr. Tate's patella." He clucked his tongue at me like I was a naughty child. "That's one of the most painful places on the entire body to have wounded."

"I know."

He snorted a long, cold snicker and stood. "I'm in charge of _talent acquisition_ for Don Falcone. I like your spunk even if you have trouble with the heavy lifting." Zsasz pulled a business card from his pocket and shoved it into my numb hand. "Give me a call when you get tired of babysitting Riley's spawn. I could use someone with your _proclivities."_

I stared as Zsasz moved back to the sidewalk pulling out his cell phone as _Funkytown_ started trilling from the device.

"_Yes sir, Miss Maguire did a decent job…"_ Zsasz's words floated away as he walked in the opposite direction.

I got into the car swearing under my breath. "Proclivities?! What the fuck?! I'm the last normal person in this damn city!" Knowing that was far from true, my face reddened. "I'll give you _proclivities_ freaking bald weirdo bastard!"

Pulling the car into traffic, I headed straight for Riley's turf.

* * *

><p>Sean took one look at me and tore the sunglasses from his face. His blue eyes were wide and his mouth twisted into something ugly. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! You look like hell warmed over."<p>

I wiped a hand over my face. "I agree."

He glanced at the car trunk. "He's inside."

"Oh yeah." The clenching was back – only this time it was so bad I was heaving on my hands and knees in the gravel of an out of the way, deserted factory yard.

"For fuck's sake," Riley muttered beneath his breath. He waited a moment before speaking loudly. "David, get Maguire to the clinic and wait for her. See to it she gets home safe and sound."

"Yes sir."

Sean Riley's shadow fell over me. "Don't come back to work for a few days."

I nodded before spewing another load of bile onto the stones.

He took a step back. "Christ sakes! I can't stand puke."

Soon everyone was gone except me and David. He shot several dubious looks in my direction as he hauled me toward Riley's town car.

"I'm fine."

David's lip curled back. "You don't look it and you sure as shit don't smell it."

"Sour?"

"You have no freaking idea."

I sighed as he shoved me in the back seat.

* * *

><p>Sitting on the edge of the examination table, I rubbed a hand over my face as I waited for my doctor to return. She had been quite concerned I contracted food poisoning at first – the flu she ruled out straight away. After washing the stink from my face and rinsing out my mouth, I felt a little better. Once the nurse appeared to draw blood, I started to get nervous.<p>

After what seemed a lifetime, but was more like forty minutes, Dr. Towers opened the door to the exam room. She was a kind woman in her mid-fifties with thick ash blonde hair and deep-set hazel eyes. Normally Dr. Towers smiled and chatted with me.

Instead she closed the door and sat on the small rolling chair across from me. "We need to have a serious chat, Emily."

I trembled as the overhead vent blew chilly air down my back. "Okay."

"Have you been sexually active in the last few months?"

Horror arose inside of me – did I have an STD?! The mere thought of venereal disease gagged me again. Wouldn't it be impossible? After all, Oswald had been a virgin and I wasn't seeing anyone else. Oswald gave me his word he was faithful…

Her brow knitted. "Emily, are you all right?"

I nodded.

She relaxed a little. "Please answer my question."

"Yes," I managed in a tight voice. "I have a boyfriend."

Dr. Towers crossed her legs and released a breath. "Is he a decent man?"

"Yes."

"Good," she gave me a strained smile. "You're pregnant."

My entire body turned cold; numbness settling in my brain. I blinked, still trying to process the doctor's words. "What?"

Dr. Towers sighed. "Emily, you're pregnant. The date of your last menstrual cycle along with your morning sickness would indicate almost nine weeks into the pregnancy. I ran a pregnancy test along with some other routine tests on the blood sample taken earlier."

"That's not possible," I managed with a harsh laugh. "I take my birth control pills every morning at the same time. I haven't missed one."

She assumed a great air of patience. "Do you remember the prescription I gave you a few months back for the urinary tract infection?"

I nodded; the infection had been minor but still required antibiotics to clear it up.

"Antibiotics can counteract the effectiveness of birth control pills; it's rare but documented. Had I known you were sexually active, I would have advised you to use condoms or another form of birth control in addition to the pill. This is why it is so important to be completely honest with your doctor."

I felt sick again even though my stomach was completely empty. "I've been drinking alcohol."

Dr. Towers frowned. "I'm sorry to hear it, but don't be too hard on yourself. You didn't know that you were pregnant. No alcohol going forward. I'm not an obstetrician, but I know several who are excellent…"

"No," I shook my head. "I'm not having this baby."

"Excuse me?"

"I'll get an abortion."

Dr. Towers' eyes widened before she regained her cool, professional composure. "Emily, you are free to make your own decisions about continuing the pregnancy. If you change your mind, I'll be happy to give you those recommendations." She stood and excused herself leaving the air ripe with her disapproval.

I dressed with mechanical, robotic movements; stopping to eye my flat stomach before jerking my shirt down. Tears formed in my eyes and I blinked them back. A baby just wasn't a possibility… Oswald was very clear he didn't want children.

Heck, _**I**_ didn't want any kids. I like children, but I never even considered having any of my own.

It was horribly ironic that two people who didn't want children and worked in a business that dealt so heavily in misery and death created a life.

Now I was going to be forced to end that little life before it began.

The idea made me angry and frightened and sad.

Throwing on my coat, I grabbed my purse and ran out the door.

* * *

><p>"What's the big hairy deal? First I don't hear from you in ages and then you're like a damn fishwife…" Harvey's diatribe ended when he looked at my face. "Emily, you look like hell."<p>

He slid into the booth across from me. "Tell me you haven't been drinking again."

I shook my head.

Harvey laid his palms flat against the wood table. "So, what's going on?"

The waitress approached with the coffee I ordered earlier. She poured Harvey and I each a cup and left us a small carafe of cream and a bowl of sugar. I wasn't sure I should even drink coffee, but fuck it – I had already been drinking booze so what did caffeine matter?

Besides, I now had an appointment at the local women's clinic. Two days from now it wouldn't matter if I decided to stick my head in a pile of cocaine and inhale deeply. I was doing what was best for everyone involved – especially the baby.

"I need a surgical procedure and I was hoping you could drive me back and forth."

Harvey set down his coffee cup and pushed back his hat. The deep concern in his eyes sent a shard of guilt deep into my chest. "I heard you rounded up that stupid ass, Tate. Did you get hurt?"

"No," I drank the coffee black; it tasted as bitter as I felt.

He was frowning at me; a sure sign I wasn't going to like what he had to say. "What kind of procedure?"

"Does it fucking matter?!" I hissed under my breath. "I'd sure as hell help you out and not ask a load of questions either."

Harvey leaned forward and seized me by the hand. "Calm down, kiddo, I'll give you the ride. Hot damn, you'd think I just asked you for your bank account number."

I swallowed more coffee in response.

He ran his hand over his mouth. "Tell me what's going on. Trust me, you'll feel better."

Setting the coffee cup down, I stared him in the eye. "Do you promise that no matter what I tell you that it goes no farther?"

"I'm sort of insulted," Harvey muttered. "I promise."

I cleared my throat and lowered my voice. "I'm having an abortion."

For the first time in all the years I'd known him, Harvey Bullock looked stunned. His eyes grew wide as he stared me down; his mouth a hard, unpleasant line. A tic developed under his eye as he released a deep, gusting breath. "I don't know what surprises me more – you've been having sex or the abortion. You always struck me as smart – at least smart enough to use birth control."

"Are you saying I'm homely?" I managed a curt laugh.

He snorted in disgust. "Cut the horseshit, you know you aren't. You've just always been… standoffish. Does the father know?"

"No."

Harvey shook his head; the tic jumping wildly. "I always thought you had more honor, Emily. The guy deserves to at least know. Maybe he might want the kid."

I ran a hand over my mouth. "Harvey, I can assure you the father doesn't want any kids."

"Emily," he reached out and captured my hand; holding it tightly. "Kid, I'd do anything for you and you know that, but this I can't do. It's not in my nature to help someone…"

"Murder their baby?" I asked angrily.

Harvey gave me a sad smile. "Pretty much. I believe women have the right to do whatever they want. I just can't get involved."

Arguing wasn't going to make him change his mind. I released a sigh. "I understand."

"Who is the father?"

"Nosy much?" I retorted.

He smirked. "I just can't help myself."

"So I see." I stared him in the eye. "If I tell you, I can expect you won't drive to the guy's door and beat the crap out of him? Or spread the news around?"

Harvey rolled his eyes. "I'll try to restrain my impulses."

"You _cannot_ tell anyone."

"I won't."

"Oswald Cobblepot."

Harvey spat a mouthful of coffee across the table. He was red-faced and choking. Grabbing a napkin, he wiped his mouth and chin before mopping up the mess on the table. "Are you insane?!"

I sank a little in my seat as he glared at me.

"Out of _all_ the men in Gotham – you were doing the horizontal mambo with that little freak?" Harvey shook his head and dropped the napkin in the center of the table. "That Penguin is a mealy-mouthed little snitching twerp! He is on Falcone's shit list for Pete's sake!"

I opened my mouth, but Harvey wasn't done yet.

"I've only met Penguin a couple times and I could tell he rows his boat with one oar! What the hell possessed you?"

"I don't know."

Harvey just shook his head. "You've lost your damn mind. I was hoping maybe Jimmy boy had been sticking it to you on the sly."

I was horrified. "Gordon?"

"Yeah," Harvey spat. _"Gordon."_

"Newsflash – we don't particularly like each other."

Harvey smirked at that. "So what? The best sex in the world can be with someone you don't like. Remember, hate is thinly separated from love on the emotional scale."

I stood. "I'll keep that in mind, Harvey."

He caught me by the wrist as I passed by. "You're in shit up to your waist. Do yourself a big favor and keep the hell away from that freak before he gets you killed." His face was shining with sincerity. "Emily, I humbly suggest you get out of town regardless of whether you keep the baby or not. I think you need some perspective and distance."

His caring touched me deeply. I leaned down and kissed his cheek. "See you around, Harvey."

He squeezed my hand briefly before letting me go.

* * *

><p>The rest of the day I spent cooped up in my apartment reading a few books I kept meaning to get to and never seemed to have the time. A can of chicken soup and half a package of crackers later, I was starting to feel human again. Every once in a while my eyes would stray from the page I was reading down to my abdomen.<p>

The idea a life was growing inside me at that very moment was as frightening as it was strange.

A knock at the door scattered my attention. I threw the book down and padded to the door. Seeing as I wasn't feeling well, I dressed in old sweat pants and a cotton camisole. I wasn't exactly a fit sight for company.

Oswald stood on the doorstep as dapper as ever.

I opened the door and he drew in a deep breath.

"I heard you were feeling rather poorly," he wore an expression of deep concern. "Are you all right?"

I shrugged. "I've had better days."

Oswald reached out and cupped my cheek. "Poor Lark, you are so pale."

Turning my head, I kissed his palm before letting him in.

He was carrying a grocery bag which he deposited on the table as I locked up behind him. The man had bread, milk, tea, and half a pound of plain rice pudding the local grocer made. Oswald put everything away while I sat on the bed watching him.

To many perhaps Oswald would come across as a dandy or even a wimp, but I knew better. He had a sharp, cunning mind and high intellect – very probable genius level IQ. Along with his intelligence Oswald was ruthless and ambitious. Seeing how far he had already come in just the last eight months of knowing him, I suspected the Gotham underworld had no chance of resisting him long term.

Oswald Cobblepot was born to rule this city. His life and agenda was set and I doubted he would consider altering it for anyone… not me and certainly not the life I was carrying.

He turned and clapped his hands together. "I have some good news."

"What?"

"Don Maroni extracted a few names from Officer Tate. As I told you, Don Falcone had nothing to do with the Amanti hit. It seems Amanti made an enemy in the Japanese outfit running around Gotham. Maroni has several men looking for the other two people involved." He perched gingerly on the bed next to me. "I have the evening and tomorrow off."

Smiling, I leaned against him. "That is good news."

Oswald kissed my forehead. "I thought so. I can see you are sick. Do you want me to go?"

"No."

He grasped an arm and tugged until I was straddling his lap. His hands roamed up and down my back in a soothing massage as Oswald gazed up at me. "I'm going to take care of you just like I promised. You'll be right as rain in no time."

There was something so genuine in those blue-green eyes, so innocent and unguarded in his expression that my heart was pained looking at him. I kissed his forehead and buried my face in his neck as he continued rubbing my back.

I wanted to tell him the truth, but I didn't.

Oswald Cobblepot had chosen a life of crime and I had chosen Oswald Cobblepot.

There was no way in hell either of us deserved a baby. Oswald wasn't stable enough to care for a child. In all honesty, I wasn't either. If both my oars were in the water, my choices would have been morally centered and not piss poor.

When tears began to wet his skin and my body shook with suppressed sobs, Oswald simply held me tighter. "Hush," he whispered against my hair. "I promise all will be well. Don't cry, my love."

I cried until there were no more tears to be had.

* * *

><p>We spent the evening in bed next to each other: Oswald in his boxer shorts and me in my camisole and bikini bottoms. I was deep into a volume of poetry by Robert Frost while Oswald stole my copy of 'The Raven' by Edgar Allen Poe. I shook my head as he chuckled while flipping a page.<p>

As promised, Oswald watched over me with great tenderness. He henpecked me into eating plain toast with a dollop of the rice pudding on the side. A few cups of good English tea made their way under my nose which I promptly consumed. He even rubbed my back for me.

Looking at him over the book I held, I was amazed at how much he looked like a boy versus the full grown man I knew him to be. He turned, a smile still on his lips, and caught me staring at him.

The smile faded. "What is it, Emily? Do you need more water?"

I reached over and trailed my fingers across his face; watching as his eyes fell closed. "I love you, Oswald."

His eyes widened almost comically. "Say it again."

Scooting across the bed, I pressed a soft kiss against his lips. "I love you, Oswald."

Oswald let his book slide to the floor where it landed with a jarring thump. He rolled me under him and shoved my book away. His kiss was gentle and filled with aching sweetness; vulnerability filling his eyes as he looked down at me. "I knew it," Oswald whispered against my mouth. "I knew you loved me."

I ran my fingers through his hair; ruffling it. "I do."

We didn't make love that night. Oswald was concerned about my health. Instead we just held one another and talked about his plans for the city before falling asleep in each other's arms.


	27. Chapter 27

**Thanks to nicsnort, Jotunheim Storm, Franny C, lulu2613, JuJuGirl, Emily, and Lola93091 for reviewing. :)**

**Warning: Semi-lemon ahead and graphic violence (not in the same scene).**

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><p>I had barely choked down my breakfast when it became abundantly clear that my day off was coming to a grinding halt. The cell was ringing and <em>'When Irish Eyes Are Smiling'<em> was playing softly. Oswald had just made his way out of the shower wrapped in the robe I left for his use. He was still toweling his damp hair; a grimace on his face.

"Riley?"

I nodded and grabbed the phone. "Hello?"

"I'm sorry to call you so soon, but I really need your help. I hope you feel better."

"Not a problem," I replied. "What's going on?"

"I have urgent business to attend to in Chicago. I don't want Peyton left alone with the housekeeper and a few guards. If you're still sick, I can drop her at Sal's."

Oswald was watching me with narrowed eyes.

I smiled at him and turned away. "What time do you need me there?"

"My flight is scheduled to leave at four thirty."

"I'll be there at three-thirty, Sean."

He released a sigh of relief. "Thank you, lass."

The moment I set the phone down, Oswald was on me. The expression on his face was a combination of anxiety and fury. He held my shoulders firmly and studied me. "I appreciate your work ethic, Lark, but you're still peaked. I think you need at least one more day to relax."

I looped my arms around his waist. "Oswald, I appreciate your concern. I need to keep my commitments and one of them is work. Mr. Riley is flying to Chicago on business and he needs me to stay with Peyton. It's my job."

Oswald rolled his eyes. "I know all about your job. I just don't think it's a very good idea when you feel poorly."

I kissed him.

At first he stared at me with large eyes conveying shock and disapproval before a soft moan escaped his throat. His eyes dropped shut as I took advantage of his parted lips and explored his mouth leisurely. I pressed against him and pushed the robe from his shoulders. The fabric hit the floor with a whisper.

Curling my nails into the lean flesh of his hips, I pulled Oswald against me.

He was panting when he pulled his mouth from mine. "Is this a good idea?"

I smiled. "I think this is an excellent idea."

Oswald shoved my panties down as he steered us toward the bed. His mouth burned a path down my throat as he picked me up by the back of the thighs and deposited me on the bed. He followed me down slowly…

* * *

><p>"I love you," Oswald whispered against my throat as he slid deep inside of me. Little beads of sweat peppered his brow and his neck.<p>

Running my tongue down his throat, I savored the taste of him and the feel of his body deep inside of me. I tightened my legs around Oswald's waist as he drove deeper into me. Little gasps escaped my throat and he whipped his head back to look down at me. "Come for me," he ordered softly.

My nails dug into his back. "I can't."

Oswald's mouth opened just a little as he began pounding his hips against mine in earnest. His hair was hanging in his eyes and the breath was rattling in his throat as he pulled back. He began to move his hips in slow, tight circles that hit just the right place.

A soft cry of capitulation escaped my throat as my body tightened all around him. Pleasure flooded every cell of my body. "I love you, Oswald."

His face was a mask of concentration as he began moving more forcefully. Oswald's eyes never left mine as our skin slapped together and his strokes grew more heated. He thrust deep one last time; burying his face against my neck as he came. The feel of his hot wetness spurting deep inside of me left us both weak and exhausted.

"I think that was a record," Oswald murmured lazily from against my cheek as he let his flaccid flesh slide free of mine. "I'm sore… I think I chaffed something important."

I kissed his cheek and held him. "Three times in four hours is impressive. I'm a little sore too."

Oswald smirked as he looked up at me. "As I recall, you started it. I was perfectly content to just laze around bed with you until it was time to get ready."

"True," I kissed him on the lips and stretched beneath him. "I think we both need a shower."

"Agreed," Oswald eased off me and helped me up.

Oswald was still worried when he left. He laid his hand over my forehead and stared hard at me. "Are you certain going to work is the best idea? You aren't feverish, but you're still very pale."

I smiled at kissed him firmly. "I'm feeling okay. I need a few days off and I think Sean will give them to me when he comes back. Everything will be fine, Oswald."

He looked skeptical, but managed a smile as he buttoned his overcoat. "I don't suppose arguing will do any good?"

I shook my head and hugged him tightly. "No, but it shows you care."

Oswald blushed; even the tips of his ears were red. He ducked his head before pressing a kiss against my temple. "I'll stop by tomorrow to see you."

"I'd like that."

He backed out the door and nearly tripped over himself before heading off down the hall. The limp he suffered made my heart ache for him. I sincerely wished someone, somewhere, somehow would find it in their black heart of rid the world of Fish Mooney.

Shaking my head, I grabbed my purse and jacket before leaving.

* * *

><p>By the time I made it to Sean Riley's mansion, it was three thirty.<p>

He was standing in the large foyer surrounded by his closest associates when I arrived. Peyton was seated on the stairs with her arms across her chest and a disgusted frown on her lips. Sean didn't even notice the look on his daughter's face.

He greeted me with a handshake. "Thanks for coming, Emily. I'll be gone until tomorrow morning. Will that be a problem?"

"No," I shook my head. "I do have a medical appointment at three tomorrow afternoon that I absolutely must make."

Sean studied me before smiling again. "I'll be back around eleven."

"Come kiss your father goodbye," I called.

Peyton shook her golden head. "No."

"Ignore her," Sean advised me with a sly grin. "Peyton is a wee bit annoyed that I decided to leave her home, but honestly she would have been in the way and bored to tears."

"Say no more."

We shook hands again and I watched him leave with his entourage.

"It isn't fair."

I turned to Peyton wearing a frown. "What do you mean?"

She glared at me. "All Daddy cares about is work. When I grow up, I'm moving away from this stupid city."

"People have to work no matter where they live, Peyton."

The little girl sighed. "I know that, Emily. I'm not a dummy."

I lowered myself to the stairs beside her. "I'm going to break some distressing news to you, kiddo. No matter where you go in this whole big, bad world you'll have to get used to the idea that life isn't fair and doesn't revolve around you."

Peyton rolled her eyes. "Thanks for the information, Sherlock. I had _no_ idea the world didn't revolve around me." For good measure she stuck her tongue at me.

Laughing, I pulled her against my side. "You are incorrigible!"

A grin finally illuminated her face. "I know, but I can't help it."

I rested my chin in my palm; my elbow digging into my leg. My eyes rested on hers. "I'll be staying overnight and since you don't have school tomorrow, I thought we might have some fun."

She peered thoughtfully at me. "Can we go to see the Van Gogh exhibit at the Modernist Museum?"

"I think that would be fun," I stood and pulled Peyton to her feet. "Let's get your coat on and I'll give David a call."

Night had just settled over the city when Peyton and I were finished touring the exhibit. The artwork had been incredibly exquisite. Peyton had been so absorbed; I had no trouble with her. Normally she grew disenchanted quickly, but not this time. Since she was enjoying herself so much, I trailed behind her and allowed myself the pleasure of taking in the overwhelming beauty of the artwork.

David was still on his break when I emerged from the museum with Peyton.

Our breath trailed in little white puffs courtesy of the frosty air.

I pushed her hair over her shoulder and smiled at her. "David isn't due back for another half hour. How would you like a cup of cocoa?" I pointed across the street where a small, upscale café was brightly lit.

Her blue eyes twinkled. "Can I have peppermint hot cocoa?"

"Sure," I took her by the hand and guided us through the traffic. "I think I might join you."

* * *

><p>Two large mugs of peppermint cocoa in hand, we settled by the windows at a small table. For a long time we chatted about her schooling and she entertained me by throwing her voice and confusing several of the patrons.<p>

I watched her joyful smile and my hand settled over my abdomen without any conscious thought.

Peyton noticed. Her small golden eyebrows rose as she licked a dollop of whipped cream from her spoon. "Are you okay, Emily? Daddy said you were really sick yesterday."

"Yeah, I'm feeling better. Do you want to watch a movie when I bring you home?"

She was thoughtful for a moment. "I've wanted to watch _'Wuthering Heights'_."

"Don't you have something like _Cinderella _or _Sleeping Beauty_?"

Peyton's expression was one of disbelief. "Are you kidding? Who watches cartoons? I told you I hate cartoons."

"I think you should watch a few for your own good." It was at that moment I noticed a man staring at us through the wall of glass.

The hair instantly began to rise on my nape.

He was of Asian ethnicity and his black eyes were full of hate as he regarded Peyton. Oswald's words from the previous night came rushing back to me.

"_Don Maroni extracted a few names from Officer Tate. As I told you, Don Falcone had nothing to do with the Amanti hit. It seems Amanti made an enemy in the Japanese outfit running around Gotham. Maroni has several men looking for the other two people involved."_

Maroni was having his revenge on this group and Riley had helped him seek that revenge.

I dove across the table; our cups of cocoa tottering and falling to the floor. My body landed over top of Peyton's as the chair crashed sideways to the floor. Patrons scattered as a loud popping noise accompanied shattering glass.

Peyton was cowering below me with wide, terrified eyes. "What's happening, Emily?"

"Start crawling," I hissed. "Stay down and go." She turned a terrible shade of white as I pulled my gun from the holster.

She crawled under the next table with me in hot pursuit. I loomed over her and looked in the direction of the door. An elderly man lay on the floor with a gaping hole in his head; a pool of gore gathering around him. Others were hiding under tables or crouching on the floor near the door. Several people were whispering desperately into cell phones.

The sound of sirens wailing in the distance gave me a little peace of mind.

I estimated GCPD would arrive within the next five minutes.

The door opened and the shooter stepped into the café. He stared straight at me with his pistol raised; it didn't seem to faze him that my gun was pointed at him in return. I shimmied backward shoving Peyton toward the restroom door.

My gun never wavered from the assailant's forehead. "If you take another step, I'll blow your brains out." Peyton let out a pained squeak as I shoved her hard up against the door. With my free hand, I reached behind me and opened it. "Get inside and don't come back out. Stay down, Peyton."

She crawled inside and shut the door.

The man across from me tilted his head and flashed a cruel smile. "I don't want you – just the girl."

"There's no way I'm letting you take that child."

He snorted. "I don't need to take her anywhere. I just need to kill her. Don Maroni killed my brother earlier today with Mr. Riley's assistance. A message needs to be sent that we will seek revenge on anyone who dares touch our members."

I thumbed the safety off.

His dark eyes narrowed. "Are you really willing to die? I promise you will."

The click of a gun's safety being eased off sounded to the side. I let my eyes follow the faint noise and another man was wedged between the counter and the wall with his gun pointed at my head. I returned my gaze to the man in front of me.

"The police are almost here," I stated. "Don't be stupid. The cops may belong to Falcone but they'll put you down for trying to kill this kid."

"Not if we kill you and the girl first," he returned angrily.

My heart was slamming against my ribs; sweat dripping into my eyes, a rock sat in my stomach as time suddenly began inching by. The sound of the sirens was deafening but I still couldn't see the blue lights.

The man took a step forward and I pulled the trigger at the same time he pulled his. The blast seemed to drown out all the other noise. My bullet hit him dead center of the chest; blooding exploding in a shower of red from his back as he stumbled before falling.

His bullet slammed into my shoulder.

The pain was beyond anything I could possibly describe; thank god he hit the left side instead of the right because I still held my gun.

Another explosion sounded and a sledgehammer caught me in the side stealing the very breath from my body. I turned to find the other assailant fighting with two young male baristas over his gun. Gagging and spitting up something warm and salty, I aimed at his head and pulled the trigger.

The man fell as his brains and blood painted the wall behind the men.

Fluid was spurting out of my nose and mouth as I struggled to draw air. I kept my gun aimed in the direction of the first man; my hand was trembling madly. No oxygen was making it into my lungs, I could feel it. Fear and panic rose inside of me as blackness grew on the edge of my vision; bleeding inward.

Screams and sirens and finally the shouts of arriving police blended into a cacophony before all sound ceased.

GCPD officers entered with drawn weapons and I dropped my gun.

The air was so cold against my skin. So very cold.

The darkness was prevalent; I could only see the officer kneeling in front of me through little pinpricks that covered over entirely and plunged me into absolute night…


	28. Chapter 28

**Thanks lulu2613, CeliaSingsSongs, Persephoniii, Jotunheim Storm, Emily, Cranberries, JuJuGirl, Franny C, FallinApart, and FuchsiaGrasshopper for reviewing. :)**

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><p>My phone began ringing uncontrollably as I sat reading while Jay and Raven argued playfully over a game of Monopoly. Reassigning the pair to watching Lark was unnecessary in my opinion. Lark was a strong woman and able to take care of herself. Newsprint was staining my fingers. I wrinkled my nose.<p>

Nothing in the Gotham Gazette was of particular interest.

Releasing a sigh, I grabbed the cell phone and studied the name with a familiar, sinking feeling. Forcing a smile to my lips and taking a deep breath, I answered. "Don Maroni, what an unexpected and pleasant surprise."

"Look, Penguin, I'm gonna be brief here. I'm over at Gotham General. I need you to get Carlo and a few of your guys and get your little limping butt down here – _**NOW**_!" The sheer urgency in Maroni's voice set me on edge.

I sat up straight. "Uh, yes… yes Don Maroni! I'll be there right away. Might I inquire the nature of the emergency?"

"NO!" Maroni shouted in my ear with enough power to nearly deafen me. I pulled the phone away as he continued his shouting. "You may not inquire! Just get your scrawny ass down here!"

"Yes sir."

I nearly toppled over in my haste to gain my feet.

The girls looked at me from the kitchen table.

Jay's pale face took on a frown of concern. "Are you okay, boss?"

"I'm fine," I retorted as I tugged my jacket into place. "You girls have a good evening. I need to meet Don Maroni."

Raven flicked her dark hair over her shoulder. "Do you need us to go with you?"

I shook my head. "No, you ladies are to remain under the radar for the time being. As touching as I find your concern, I want you two unknown by my employers. The time will come for you both to step into the light soon enough." I stopped at the closet beside the door and pulled on my overcoat. "Good evening."

"'Night boss," Raven called softly as Jay bit her lip and just waved.

Pulling out my cell phone, I punched Carlo's number from the contact list. "Sorry to bother you at this hour, Carlo, but I need you to get the guys together. Meet me at Gotham General."

"Yes sir." Carlo was easy going and always followed orders to my everlasting relief. He was the perfect little worker bee.

Hailing a cab, I wondered what was going on to upset Maroni this much. Perhaps an immediate member of his family was ill? No. He wouldn't have sounded so… irate. Illness was just a fact of life, tragic as it may be. An act of violence most likely was the answer.

A cabbie stopped and I suspended my extrapolations.

I would know the answer soon enough.

Settling into the seat, I ignored the stench of stale smoke and old pizza as I smiled at the driver. "Gotham General, please. I'll give you a healthy tip if you get me there under fifteen minutes."

The old man snorted. "You got it, buster."

* * *

><p>Forty dollars lighter, I stood in the main lobby of Gotham General.<p>

Hospitals were never a favorite of mine and I heaved a sigh. There was no telling where Don Maroni and his people were. Carlo, Pauly, and Gianni made it inside just as I approached the reception desk. I gave them a quick, solemn smile.

The woman behind the desk reminded me of a schoolmarm: thick, large round glasses, greying hair fashioned in perfect pin curls, and a cardigan set. Her sour frown only added to the aura of a matronly, unpleasant sort.

"Can I help you, sir?"

I cleared my throat and managed a polite smile. "Yes, madam. I'm here to meet Salvatore Maroni."

She stared at me; her lips turning down in a more pronounced way. "Rolly polly Italian fella? Balding and full of hot air?"

The guys behind me began murmuring and moving around. Disrespect to the Don was not to be tolerated and they were watching to see how I would handle the matter.

The smile on my face died. "You really should speak to people with more respect…"

She snatched a note and shoved it across the counter at me. "Uh huh, I thought so. I'll tell you exactly what I told that fat mook – I don't care how nice your suit is. Act like a pompous ass with me and it's all over but the crying. Now scram before you really piss me off!"

I stared at her; the note between my fingers and my mouth opening and closing.

The woman pointed toward the corridor clearly marked _'To Emergency Services'._ "Go!"

Jumping at the harsh tone and imperious tone, I walked away as quickly as my limp allowed. Pauly grunted from behind me. "You ain't gonna do nuthin' about that lack of respect?"

"Feel free to take care of the issue if you like," I answered as my eyes roved over Don Maroni's note. "I suspect if Don Maroni let her attitude slide, so should we."

Maroni's note was concise and to the point: _We are in the emergency room with members of our extended family. Please join us._

I shoved the note in my coat pocket as we arrived in the chaos and fury that made up Gotham General's emergency room. Doctors and nurses were rushing around along with orderlies and nursing assistants. Patients were being wheeled in and out of small rooms in varying degrees of distress. The large glass doors opened and closed as two ambulances arrived and belched out severely hurt citizens.

My eyes scanned the breadth of the huge, vast department.

Finally, I recognized one of Maroni's bodyguards standing beside a room across the way.

Maury frowned as we neared him. "Go on in, Mr. Cobblepot. The Don is waiting for you. This is some fucked up shit, lemme tell ya."

I frowned and laid my hand on the door knob. "Gentlemen, please stay with Maury." Taking a deep breath to steel me against whatever I was going to see; I opened the door and let myself inside.

The room was tiny and crowded.

Peyton Riley was seated on a gurney being looked over by a physician. Sal Maroni stood nearby with three men; Detective Harvey Bullock, a uniform cop with blood smeared across his sleeves, and a sinister looking bald man in black. I felt like I should know the bald man… the knowledge hit me like a hammer.

_Victor Zsasz._

Maroni looked up and palpable relief crossed his face. "Penguin, get over here."

I moved beside him and tried not to flinch when Maroni's meaty arm landed around my shoulders and Bullock's flinty gaze met mine. There was something _off_ in how Bullock was staring me down; like he wanted to commit an act of violence and was restraining himself.

"Where is Miss Maguire?" I asked as I swiveled my head to make sure I hadn't missed her.

Maroni's dark eyes looked troubled. "Maguire is in an operating room."

The words echoed in my ears over and over.

I had trouble comprehending. _Operating room?_ _Emily?_ "There has to be some mistake," I stammered out as I stared at the men around me. "Miss Maguire is Peyton Riley's bodyguard. Why would she be in an operating room?"

"Gee, I don't know," Bullock spat sarcastically. "Maybe she's in an operating room because someone from the Japanese mob tried to whack Riley's kid."

Zsasz's eyes widened. "I think we need to dial this down a bit - I'm not being paid enough to deal with a run of the mill brawl. I need to give Don Falcone a status update. Please excuse me."

I turned my head and glanced at the little blonde girl. Her face was abnormally pale and her eyes huge in her small, tear-stained face. She was shaking and seemed far removed from the high-spirited girl I had met previously.

"We need to all calm down," Maroni stated. "Sean knows what happened and he's on the next plane back from Chicago. We got ourselves a damn mess on our hands."

Bullock pulled off his hat and pushed his hair back. "With all due respect, Don Maroni, the matter should be left to the GCPD. Maguire shot and killed two members of the Yakuza – clear cut cases of self-defense so no worries about forthcoming charges. I cannot stress enough that if anyone takes the law into their own hands that charges _will_ be pressed."

Maroni frowned. "You wanna end up working at Arkham with your former partner? Keep your gums flapping."

Bullock didn't seem a bit cowed. He thrust his hands into the air. "I've delivered the official warning. Whatever you choose to do now is beyond my control."

Before anyone could speak another word, the door opened and admitted a surgeon in bloodstained surgical scrubs.

I swallowed. _Lark's blood._

The doctor nodded to the physician treating Peyton's scrapes and bruises and the man picked the child up and left the room. Once the door shut, he began speaking. "I'm Dr. Anthony Ketting and I'm one of the surgeons treating Miss Maguire for her injuries. Is any family present?"

"No," Harvey stated with a shake of the head. "I called her mother and she'll be in Gotham sometime tomorrow. I am Emily's medical power of attorney if that helps."

I stared at Bullock in surprise. Never in a _million_ years would I have guessed that Lark left all decisions for her care in the hands of this… _cretin_. Every fiber of my being wanted to protest, but I needed to keep my mouth shut. The last thing I needed was to end up in the operating room next to Lark.

Dr. Ketting looked relieved. "Yes, Detective, we have some problems."

My heart turned cold even as my palms began to sweat. Those Yakuza dogs were going to pay for what they'd done to Lark…

"What kind of problems?" Bullock's voice was filled with worry.

"Miss Maguire was hit in the side. Her left lung collapsed with a sucking wound which is when air is literally sucked into the lung from outside the body; this is why she was choking on her own blood when the paramedics arrived."

I felt sick as the fury inside me ratcheted up a notch.

"The bullet missed her heart and the major arteries and exited out her right side through the liver. The damage is extensive. Where the problem lies is in the pregnancy you indicated."

Time stopped around me and I blinked.

_Pregnant?! No, no, no! Lark would have told me._ My mind was raging and howling with pain and denial. How could the woman I love be pregnant and I had no idea? Worse, how was Harvey Bullock privy to that information before the father of the unborn child?

The illness she had experienced. Was it the first stirrings of morning sickness?

I ran a hand over my face and noticed that Maroni had crossed himself in the Catholic fashion.

Bullock looked exhausted. "What kind of problem?"

"We've been trying to preserve the fetus and have been successful so far. If Miss Maguire's blood pressure drops to dangerous levels it could endanger the fetus and so might the medication we need to use. Do we have your permission to proceed?"

I felt like my mouth and throat were stuffed with cotton balls.

"Do whatever you have to in order to get Maguire to recover." Bullock paused. "If her condition deteriorates, I'd like her mother to make further decisions regarding her care." He shook Dr. Ketting's hand as the man ducked out.

Anger and betrayal didn't begin to cover my feelings. Beyond that I was terrified she was going to die and leave me alone. We had only just found one another. Eight months wasn't long enough. I needed Lark in my life. She had just told me she loved me. Death wasn't an option. I needed her.

Sweat soaked my armpits and my hair; making the mop drop forward into my face.

A slap across the shoulder brought me reeling back into reality. "Son, you smell. Go freshen up and get some coffee," Maroni ordered quietly. "You look like you're ready to keel over."

"I could use some coffee too." Bullock was staring straight at me; daring me to refuse his company.

Maroni nodded and wiped a hand over his head. "Fine, I need to see how Peyton is doing."

Shuffling forward, I suppressed a gasp as Bullock seized me by the bicep. He dragged me unceremoniously from the emergency room area. Once we rounded a corner and no one was in sight, he shoved me against the wall so hard that I bounced off.

Bullock grabbed me by the lapels and shoved me against the wall; pinning me there. In a physical altercation there would be no contest between us. Despite being almost twice my age, Bullock was much taller and he had significant more bulk; a great deal of which was muscle.

He leaned down so our noses nearly touched; his eyes were cold as ice. "I _know_ you're the father of Emily's baby, you little douchebag. For whatever reason that girl loves you and if you think that will save your ass from me – you're wrong. If Emily or that baby dies, you better pray I get hit by a bus. Do you understand?"

I nodded. "Ye-yes."

Bullock slapped me on the side of the face; hard enough to sting and leave a lingering sense of humiliation. "Get out of my sight before I break your other leg."

I looked down and took a couple of steps. Stopping, I straightened from my stooped position and turned to regard him. "I love her, Detective Bullock. She didn't tell me about the baby."

"I know," he stated darkly. "She pretty much admitted as much. Get out of my sight."

Turning, I headed for the hospital cafeteria.

* * *

><p>I was numb and filled with worry. Drinking enough coffee to float a yacht only strained my bladder and resulted in multiple trips to the restroom. I was exhausted though I smelled better after freshening up. The hours ticked by in the waiting room as slow as eternity itself.<p>

Maroni had taken Peyton to his home hours ago.

Zsasz was long gone to report the situation to Don Falcone. The fact the Yakuza dared strike back against a hit Falcone sanctioned required swift and merciless punishment from Falcone. I suspected Zsasz and his associates were currently pursuing the errant Yakuza members.

That left Bullock, me, Carlo, Pauly, and Gianni waiting on news of Lark's surgery.

Detective Bullock had chosen a seat directly across from me and spent the majority of his time staring at me. When not staring, he was either on the phone, texting, or reading the old, decrepit magazines piled on the tables.

Carlo was currently on watch next to the waiting room door while Pauly and Gianni napped.

The dawn was just beginning to shine through the windows when the door opened to admit Sean Riley and Helen Maguire. I had only met Lark's mother once before. I prayed she didn't make a scene. Questions about the true nature of my relationship with Lark would no doubt rouse the ire of Maroni and Riley. Why Bullock hadn't exposed me earlier, I hadn't a clue. Perhaps he meant to use the information at a later time.

"Helen," Bullock greeted the distraught older woman. "I'm sorry about Emily."

She hugged the man and patted his back like an old friend before straightening. Mrs. Maguire began swiping at her tear-stained face. "Emily thinks so highly of you, Harvey."

Riley, Bullock, and I all offered her our handkerchiefs.

She stared at me a moment before choosing mine. "Thank you, young man."

I nodded sharply and tried to gulp down my nerves.

Mrs. Maguire looked at me for a moment before choosing a seat and being flanked on both sides by Bullock and Riley.

Sean Riley looked dead; his dark hair made the startling whiteness of his face all the more unnatural. He rested his arm around her shoulders. "Don't worry about the bills. No matter what treatment is necessary, I'm paying for it. Emily saved Peyton's life; I can never thank her enough."

"She's pregnant," Mrs. Maguire started to cry again. "Did you know?"

Riley shook his head. "I had no idea. Emily never even mentioned she was dating."

Deep inside, I ached. My poor Lark – shot like some common thug and choking on her own blood as she fought to survive. The men responsible were dead by Lark's own hand, but there were others. I wanted to find them; to carve the flesh from their bones as they screamed and begged me to stop.

I bit down savagely on my tongue to keep from screaming my rage aloud. Tears burned in my eyes and I blinked rapidly to keep them at bay.

Memories surfaced: the first time I ever saw Lark as a cop sitting beside me on a concrete curb, standing in the cold autumn air smiling at me as she returned from a jog, Lark's limbs akimbo as she lay beneath me after we made love.

"Mrs. Maguire?"

I looked up as did Lark's mother.

Dr. Ketting faced Mrs. Maguire as the older woman nodded. "Miss Maguire is out of surgery and we have her in intensive care. As I explained to Detective Bullock earlier, she sustained extensive trauma to her left lung and liver. So far the fetus has survived, but we can't make any long term promises."

"I understand," Mrs. Maguire murmured. "What about Emily?"

The doctor cleared his throat. "The prognosis is fifty-fifty in all honesty. If Miss Maguire can survive the next two weeks without succumbing to infection we have every right to become optimistic. I must caution you that while we are doing our very best, it isn't unusual for a victim of this sort of lung trauma to contract pneumonia. In her state, pneumonia would be a death sentence. Visitation can begin later this afternoon for family. You'll see a great deal of tubes and monitors and this isn't unusual. I would get some rest and come back to the hospital later."

My fingers curled until my hands were tight fists; fingernails digging deep into my own flesh.

I had to see Lark… I _needed_ to see her.

A soft hand landed over mine.

Mrs. Maguire was smiling down at me. "Would you mind giving me a lift to my hotel?"

Sean Riley was staring at me with disbelief written across his features. The look promised trouble later.

"I would be honored," I managed in as bright a voice as possible.

"Helen," Riley began. "I'll be happy to have you stay with me."

She shook her head and took my arm. "You've been more than generous, Sean. I don't want to disrupt your household. Besides, the hotel is only a few blocks away so I'll be closer."

Bullock was completely silent as he shrugged into his coat.

Riley nodded. "Of course, Helen, I understand completely. If you change your mind, please let me know."

Mrs. Maguire nodded and looked to me.

I dutifully led her out of the hospital with Carlo, Pauly, and Gianni trailing behind. When we reached the sidewalk, I dismissed Pauly and Gianni before instructing Carlo to fetch the car. Stuffing Mrs. Maguire into the back of a stinking city cab was not to be tolerated. She was much too fine a lady for such behavior.

She turned to face me and released my arm. Her dark eyes, Lark's eyes, searched my face. "You're the father of her baby, aren't you?"

I was too tired and grief stricken in that moment to even consider telling a falsehood. "Yes, Mrs. Maguire, I am. I love your daughter… very much." I ducked my head; unable to meet her eyes a moment longer.

To my everlasting shock and disbelief, Helen Maguire put her arms around me and drew me against her like I was a long lost child. She smelled of old-fashioned rose perfume and Aqua Net hairspray. "Oswald, isn't it?"

"Yes ma'am." I was stiff and unsure in the woman's all-encompassing embrace.

Mrs. Maguire drew back and cupped my face. "Call me Helen. I knew she had feelings for you when we met. I just didn't realize how deeply her emotions ran." She stepped back and shook her head. "Would you like to visit her with me later?"

I felt hope bubble up. "Y-yes."

"Then you shall," Helen turned toward the curb. "What do you intend to do with a child?"

I felt sick. "I'm not sure. Honestly, Helen, having children wasn't on my agenda."

She nodded. "Start thinking, Oswald."

I swallowed and was never so grateful to see Carlo as I was in that moment.


	29. Chapter 29

**Thanks to Persephoniii, Emily, Jotunheim Storm, JuJuGirl, Franny C, lulu2613, and FuchsiaGrasshopper for reviewing! :)**

**Warning: Scenes containing graphic violence and violent imagery ahead.**

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><p>Maroni excused me for the day after I informed him Mrs. Maguire asked for my company. He didn't ask many questions and simply told me that I was back to work tomorrow regardless of what Emily's mother might want. It was his opinion that Mr. Riley was the person who should be 'kissing Mrs. Maguire's ass'.<p>

I managed a quick nap and a shower before rushing out the door to pick up Mrs. Maguire at the appointed time.

Carlo returned for me with the car. He was stoic as always.

Once seated inside, I drew a deep breath. "I understand a certain gentleman by the name of Kirasaki is the head of the Yakuza here in Gotham."

Dark eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. "Funny, I heard the same rumor."

"I would like for you to arrange a personal introduction for me. I'm certain Mr. Kirasaki won't be too terribly hard to find." The head of the Yakuza supposedly had a penthouse right downtown.

After a phone call with Don Falcone, I came to understand that only the mid-level men working with Toshi, the man Lark killed, were being rooted out and slaughtered by Zsasz. Falcone was under the rather ridiculous impression that killing the head of the Yakuza might stir up bad blood.

Carlo smirked. "I'm sure a few of the guys might be able to find the man. Could be expensive to extract him."

"Money is not a consideration."

"I'll make a few calls."

I settled back and smiled.

* * *

><p>Two of Riley's men flanked the door leading into Emily's room in the intensive care wing. One eyed me as I followed Mrs. Maguire inside so I was very careful to shut the door behind us. My plans were starting to unravel at the seams. Most likely Riley had a clue that I was the father of Emily's child – the manner in which he stared at me earlier as I interacted with Mrs. Maguire told me as much.<p>

Now Riley was no doubt piecing together why I would want to keep my relationship with Emily a secret.

That question would lead to others and eventually to suspicions that Riley might take to Don Maroni.

I couldn't afford to allow such a mess. No, I'd worked far too hard to be cast out into the cold.

My ascension was coming and not even Don Falcone truly understood how far I was going to rise.

Sean Riley was a very intelligent man. Pity.

Helen rushed to Emily's bedside and picked up her hand; squeezing it tightly. "Honey, Mom's here. I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere."

Above Helen's words came the beeps of the monitors and the horrible low huffs of the machine helping Emily to breathe. There were lines and tubes entering and exiting her body all over. The air smelled strongly antiseptic tinged with a darker, coppery scent.

My gag reflex was triggered and I started to swallow in the effort to gain control.

Emily was swathed in a pale blue hospital gown; her beautiful face was swollen and the skin showing on her chest was a hideous black and blue. I looked down at her curled fingers and closed my eyes against the boiling tears threatening to break free.

I reached out and took her hand instinctively.

Her skin was dry; thin like parchment.

Opening my eyes, I began rubbing her knuckles with the pad of my thumb as gently as I could. I didn't dare touch any other part of her. My eyes landed on her abdomen. I still couldn't believe that deep inside a child was growing – a part of both of us.

I take the blame for inseminating her. I should have used extra precautions.

Several hours passed.

Helen dragged a chair close to the bed and held Emily's other hand. She told me stories of Emily as a girl: how she was always trailing her father, Emily's love of books, and the horrid way she would tease her older brother. I listened for a long time.

My Lark had been right about one thing – not everyone's mother was like mine.

Helen was deeply kind and showed concern for me and my well-being.

I was shocked to say the least.

Helen excused herself to visit the restroom and I was alone with my Emily.

I had chosen the seat closer to the windows so I could observe Riley's men from my vantage point. I leaned forward and pressed my mouth against her sweet skin. "Darling, you mustn't die." I could feel the tears falling; they spattered against her flesh. "Emily, please."

Wiping my face, I pushed up to my feet and grabbed my phone. "Carlo, have we made any progress?"

"We got Kirasaki about ten minutes ago, boss. What should we do with him?"

My lower lip trembled and I released a satisfied hiss. "Take him to the warehouse. Make very sure you aren't followed."

"Will do." Carlo cleared his throat loudly. "We also got Kirasaki's mistress. You want us to bring her along or dump her?"

Rage colored my vision crimson. "No," I stated harshly. "Bring her as well."

"You got it."

I pocketed my cell phone just as Helen bustled back through the door. I managed a tight smile. "I'm very sorry, Helen, but I have to leave. I'll arrange for a car to bring you back to your hotel when visiting hours are up."

She nodded and smiled sadly. "Thank you, Oswald. I hope you'll continue to visit Emily."

"Of course I will," I came around the bed and kissed Helen's hand. "I love your daughter with all my heart. I'll be back tomorrow."

Helen squeezed my hand and released me. "Take care, Oswald."

I cast one last look at Emily before leaving.

* * *

><p>If Jay and Raven were shocked to be ordered to accompany me, they certainly didn't show it. Both girls were seated on either side of me as the car pulled into the abandoned warehouse where all of Maroni's <em>dirty<em> business took place. I had stopped back to our apartment not just for the ladies, but a very special acquisition I'd recently made.

When the girls saw what I held as I emerged from my room, they looked at one another with expressions of complete shock.

The umbrella balanced between my legs was a very special little number.

I was eager to try it out.

Carlo opened the door and stood aside to allow Jay, Raven, and I inside before securing the opening behind us. No one in, no one out when I worked over Maroni's enemies was my rule. I did a surprising amount of the violence on my own. Disgusting business, but at times it just simply had to be done.

In the center of the warehouse, where Timothy had been several weeks earlier, was hanging an older Japanese man in a very smart, designer suit. He was gagged and trussed up to my usual specifications.

Smiling, I shrugged out of my overcoat before handing it off to Jay. "Greetings, Mr. Kirasaki, my name is Oswald Cobblepot." His dark eyes carried no gleam of recognition so I clucked my tongue as I began unbuttoning my suit jacket. "Perhaps you might be better acquainted with the moniker I've acquired – the Penguin."

Kirasaki reared back; the sudden action sent him swinging.

I smiled at him as I handed Raven my jacket. "Ah, I see you know Penguin's reputation. You made a rather large error in judgment a few nights back. Mr. Kirasaki a hit was sanctioned on a little girl, Peyton Riley." The man's eyes went wide. "Don Falcone didn't give you permission to murder a child in his territory." I wiggled my forefinger at him. "Shame on you, Mr. Kirasaki. Killing children is so uncivilized."

Desperate screams from a gagged female caught my attention and I gazed across the room.

A woman in her mid-twenties, Japanese from the look of her, was bound to a chair with a towel jerked through her mouth and tied off as a makeshift gag. She was beyond beautiful… like the most gorgeous porcelain doll one could imagine.

Leaning against my umbrella, I made my way to her side and smirked at the struggling and grunting Kirasaki. "Oh, you _care_ about this lady, don't you?"

The look of absolute hatred in Kirasaki's dark eyes promised death if he was released.

My smile only grew. "You see, Mr. Kirasaki, the bodyguard that was shot defending Miss Riley is a close friend of mine." The smile slowly drained from my face as I directed a cold, flinty stare in his direction. "She is very badly hurt – she could even die." I snatched a fistful of the woman's hair and forced her head back. "I'm sure if even a hair on this lady's head was harmed you would be understandably angry."

The poor woman was snorting in her breaths; her lovely dark eyes wide with terror as she beheld me.

I found her fear tantalizing… most people were too foolish to fear me until the end when I had them ensnared.

The sense of power I derived was like a drug pounding through my veins.

Kirasaki was struggling madly in his bonds; his gag blocking out screams of rage.

"Your mistress has the most beautiful skin I've ever laid eyes on." I smiled at him again. "My mother told me stories that the Nazis would flay the flesh from Jews in the concentration camps to make lampshades and boots. I imagine your friend would make very fine loafers."

A long, keen scream rose from the woman's chest.

Kirasaki only fought more – swaying back and forth pitifully.

I released the woman and staggered forward until I was only a few feet away Kirasaki. I jabbed my finger at him vehemently. "Emily is the woman who was shot by your men. She has been suffering horribly. I think it only just you share in her agony."

Lifting the umbrella, I pressed a button hidden in a recess of the cane's handle. A soft metallic _pop_ sounded and a nearly foot long stainless steel, razor sharp dagger emerged from the tip of the umbrella itself.

Smiling, I grabbed the umbrella with both hands and skewered Kirasaki through the thigh.

He screamed against his gag; the sound muted but nonetheless one I still found pleasurable.

"I think, ladies," I cast my gaze on the still and pale figures of Jay and Raven. "That you will find the trick of a long, fruitful torture session is not to allow the victim to bleed out." I jerked back the umbrella and the blade at the end emerged scarlet and dripping. "Carlo, bandage Mr. Kirasaki's thigh please. We aren't through with him yet."

Carlo rushed by me to fulfill my order.

I smiled at my two little birds. "If you two would be kind enough to strip Mr. Kirasaki's mistress down to her underclothes, I would appreciate it. Cover her with a blanket until I'm ready to proceed. No need to completely insult the woman's dignity."

Jay and Raven looked at each other before scampering off toward the woman in question.

Turning, I smirked at the man responsible for Emily's current state. "If only you had informed your men that Don Falcone had every right to sanction a hit on that cop, Tate, and your associate Toshi and his brother _none_ of this would be happening right now. Oh how pride goeth before the fall."

Carlo stepped away from Kirasaki's bandaged leg just as I rushed forward and jabbed the other leg. The sound of metal parting flesh and the man's agony was like music to my ears. Again and again I rammed my umbrella against the helpless man's body until I was covered with sweat.

Stumbling back, I sucked in a deep breath and wiped my hand across my face; it came away sticky and red. I scrubbed my hand against my pant leg. My suit was going to be ruined, but I would simply buy another. I needed to finish Kirasaki.

The man was covered with oozing puncture wounds and gauze pads soaking up his life blood. He looked barely conscious and it irritated me.

Slamming my umbrella hard against his knee, I heard bone crack and the man screeched once more.

"Now," I straightened and swung the umbrella around jauntily. "I believe we can finish this you moronic oaf." With all my power I drove the dagger end of the umbrella deep into the man's side. Grunting, I pulled across his gut.

The loud tearing of skin, muscle, and bowels along with Kirasaki's muffled screams filled the air.

I jerked the umbrella back and watched with satisfaction as the man's innards slid free and dropped with a soft, wet _thwap_ to the concrete floor. Kirasaki's body twitched even as the obnoxious stink of him reached me.

Kirasaki's head slumped forward as he swung back and forth like a pendulum.

When I turned everyone in the room was staring at me with varying degrees of disbelief on their faces.

I limped forward and handed Jay my bloodied umbrella. "Clean this for me please." She nodded jerkily before wandering away. I pulled out the knife I kept on my person and flicked open the blade as I stared down as Kirasaki's weeping mistress. "I'm terribly sorry you were mixed up in all this, I really am. As a gentleman, I would prefer to let you go, but I'm sure you can't be trusted."

She was shaking and crying; the sound of running water was briefly heard.

I looked down with distaste to see a yellowish puddle on the concrete below her. "How disappointing, I had hoped you would show some courage." She had no time to gather another scream as I brought the knife down across her neck.

Scarlet gushed and pumped as the light in her eyes faded.

Carlo looked uncomfortable. "Should I get rid of her?"

"Skin her first."

The large man stared. "What?"

I smirked cruelly. "I know you aren't deaf, Carlo. Skin the bitch and then you and the others can get rid of the bodies – preferably in the same manner you made Timothy disappear. We really can't afford to have these two pop up. The Yakuza will be reeling from this particular blow for a long time."

Carlo swallowed tightly but pulled out his knife. "What should I do with the skin?"

"Send it to the Lehmann Tannery across town with my compliments. They'll know what to do with the skin."

Raven blanched. "Are you seriously making shoes out of a dead woman?"

I smiled. "My mother could use a lovely pair of moccasins for lounging around the house. Come on, we need to get going. I believe you and Jay have a new assignment."

Raven trailed after me as Carlo began his gruesome task.

* * *

><p>Visiting hours hadn't yet ended when I returned to the hospital with a large bouquet of white roses. Jay and Raven were off keeping their lovely eyes on Sean Riley for me. I hadn't quite decided what to do about the meddlesome Irishman, if anything at all. I felt he had a hand in Emily being hurt – if he hadn't called her then Emily wouldn't have dashed out the door in her poor state of health.<p>

Helen was still seated beside Emily.

She brightened upon seeing the huge vase of flowers. I placed them on the nightstand across the room.

"The roses are beautiful, Oswald. I'm sure Emily would love them."

I smiled and took up Emily's free hand on the other side of the bed. "I believe she would as well. I thought I would return and offer you a ride to the hotel."

Helen nodded. "I greatly appreciate the gesture. How long are those men going to be outside Emily's door?"

I glanced up at the doorway where the shadows of Riley's men were clearly discernible. "I suspect until she makes a full recovery." _Which would make my future visitations incredibly awkward._

She nodded thoughtfully before finally looking me in the face. "Did you have a hard day? You look a little pale and you changed your suit."

I smiled. Helen didn't miss a beat – just like Emily. "I had business and I showered and changed before coming back." I had scheduled a meeting with a group of fishermen that worked for Maroni to discuss an increase on their taxes to the Don in a few days. I suspected the group would not be receptive, but it was part of a plan I was formulating. "Two days from now I have a very important business meeting to attend so I might not make it here until later in the evening."

Helen nodded and looked at Emily.

I wanted to be alone with my Lark – to be free to hold a private conversation with her. Tightening my hand around hers, I looked at her poor swollen face and felt something shift inside me. I loved her and I was terrified she would not survive.

_Death was not an option._


	30. Chapter 30

**Thank you Persephoniii, Daniella, Franny C, Jotunheim Storm, JuJuGirl, and FuchsiaGrasshopper for reviewing. :)**

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><p>My two meetings with the fishermen who belonged to Maroni had gone far more poorly than I had anticipated. Cooperation is what I expected – not to be stabbed in the back by the insubordinate fools. I never expected that Don Maroni would have me locked in a holding cell at GCPD headquarters for nearly forty-eight hours to teach me a lesson.<p>

I paced incessantly until I finally passed out on a hard bench. My thoughts had been centered on contacting Don Maroni and on Emily. I was worried for her.

I wasn't sure if I was more enraged with Maroni or Bullock.

My lip curled at the memory of the look of pure disgust on Detective Bullock's face. I had caught a glint of satisfaction in the man's eyes as he stared me down through the bars separating us. If it had been left up to him I never would have been released.

Bullock was trying to keep me from Emily.

_Bastard._

All that mattered now was that I was free.

Raven gasped when I opened the apartment door. "Holy shit! What happened to you, boss?"

I touched the tender skin around my bruised eye and hissed. "I was waylaid. The damage is relatively minor." Slamming the door behind me, I limped toward my room. "Where is Jay?"

"She's keeping an eye on Riley's comings and goings."

"Good," I managed as I reached my bedroom.

Raven cleared her throat. "Uh… boss?"

I could barely tolerate my own stench. Maroni was right – I was disgustingly ripe. Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I turned and smiled at the girl. "Yes?"

She looked nervous; her hands twisting over and over again. "You didn't really have that woman's skin made into shoes, right?"

I fought the urge to roll my eyes; instead settling for pinching the bridge of my nose. "Raven, please give me a little credit. I may be many things, but I have no desire to sport a fellow human beings skin."

"But you said…"

A small smile eased across my mouth. "Yes, the woman's skin was sent to Lehmann Tannery, but I had that done because the tannery has been quite lax in sending their contributions to Don Maroni. The skin was merely a warning of sorts. I told the boys the skin was to make shoes because who would dare disrespect someone capable of such raw brutality? Very few."

Raven held up her hand like a schoolgirl might.

I let my head hang and shook it slowly. "Yes?"

"Don't you think Carlo and the others might be inclined to stage a coup?"

Surprise filtered through me. "You know what a coup is?"

"I'm not a dumbass," Raven huffed. "I went to school before I ended up on the street."

I tilted my head and studied her. "Honestly, Carlo and the others are paid so well they will ignore even the most twisted inclination. Not forever of course, but long enough for my purposes." I smirked at her. "Raven, I hope you aren't entertaining any disloyal thoughts."

She paled. "No! I'm not like that."

I gave her a curt nod and headed for my room. "I need to take a shower and get to the hospital. With all due respect, I'll speak with you later."

Raven didn't question me or my motives again.

* * *

><p>Riley's men were still outside Emily's hospital room.<p>

I felt their eyes on me when I slipped between them and into the room.

Helen was seated beside Emily as usual. She stood with a smile that soon died as she dashed across the room. Her cold hands were gentle as Helen turned my face and examined my bruised eye. The look on her face was akin to complete horror. "Oswald, what happened to you?"

I smiled tightly and took her hands in mine. "Nothing of consequence, I assure you, Mrs. Maguire. How has Emily fared? I tried to contact you but I was detained in a most egregious manner."

She squeezed my hands and smiled. "We have good news from the doctors. There's no sign of infection."

Relief surged through me and I wiped a hand over my mouth. "Thank goodness. I've been so worried and with no way to call…"

Helen took me by the arm and began leading me to the bed. "Please don't worry, Oswald. I'm fine and Emily has had some slight improvements in her condition."

"Did she wake up at all?"

"No," Helen sighed and released me before returning to her seat. "The doctors have assured me that with someone in such grave condition it isn't unusual that Emily would still be unconscious."

I eased around the bed and took Emily's hand in mine. "I'm here, darling."

Helen watched me as I gazed at Emily's face. She was quiet for a long time before deciding to speak again. "Sean told me you were arrested and that's why you were unable to contact me. I've known Sean long enough that questioning his veracity would be foolish. Why were you in jail?"

Humiliated, I stared at my hand interlocked with Emily's on the bed. "I tried to raise revenue for my employer and he felt I was in the wrong." Vague was the best policy for now.

"Are you in the mob?" The question was put forth in a soft voice.

I stifled a nervous laugh and looked at Helen.

She was watching me with hard eyes; an expression that demanded answers.

I cleared my throat. "Yes."

The explosion of indignation that I expected never came.

Instead, Helen merely nodded thoughtfully and turned her gaze to Emily. "I thought so. My uncle was involved in the Irish mob. I don't approve, Oswald. I feel I must make my thoughts on the matter clear."

"But?"

"But Emily loves you and far be it from me to try and separate the two of you." Helen looked tired suddenly and much older than she had only forty-eight hours earlier. "Have you given any idea to how you two will raise a child?"

Her generosity of spirit was far different from the clingy possessiveness of my mother. I was hard-pressed to dislike Helen for any reason. I shook my head. "I think it's far too early for those types of plans. The doctor said it was a long shot the baby will even survive."

"Thinking positive never hurt anyone, young man."

My eyes drifted to Emily's still flat belly. I felt a small jab of guilt because I wanted Emily back and I wasn't even considering the child. No matter what Helen said to me, the baby was the least of my worries at the present. If the baby survived, I would revisit the issue at that time.

For now, Emily and her recovery were on my mind.

A loud knock sounded at the door before it opened to reveal Sean Riley. He looked better today than the last time I'd seen him. I had pulled my hand from Emily's as he sought entrance, but he still seemed surprised to find me present.

Sean smiled kindly at Helen. "How are you today, Helen?"

"Fine. I was just telling Oswald that the doctors gave me some good news. So far there isn't a trace of infection."

He looked momentarily relieved. "That's absolutely wonderful." Riley turned his head toward me. "Might I have a word with you, Oswald?"

An argument would only upset Helen, and possibly Emily if she could hear, so I followed Sean out the door and down the hall to the waiting room. It was empty and he shut the door behind us.

Sean clasped his hands behind his back as he stared at me. "I think you and I need to have a long talk, Oswald."

"Oh?"

He snorted and shook his head. "Do you honestly think the disappearance of Kirasaki has gone unnoticed by the Yakuza? They have already been to Don Falcone accusing Don Maroni and me of orchestrating his demise." Riley circled me slowly. "I understand your rage, I really do."

I stared at him silently.

"I was young once myself," he confided kindly. "And I can see you care for Emily very much. If someone had tried to murder my wife – I can tell you I would have moved heaven and hell to see the person punished."

Denial was my only option – anything else was a self-imposed death sentence. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I didn't even know Kirasaki had gone missing."

Riley frowned. "Sal tells me you're a smart little monkey. I think he's wrong, Oswald, I think you are far more intelligent than he's given you credit for being. The faux pas with Sal's fishermen is youthful enthusiasm and easily forgivable. Murdering Kirasaki and his mistress and starting a mob war over a piece of ass isn't."

The rage bled through my eyes even as I kept my expression carefully blank.

He took one look at me and sighed. "I was afraid of exactly this. You and Emily are involved. See, you can't hide the fact you love her; the look in your eyes when I used a minor insult was one of death. I could give a damn if you two have been sleeping together, but you _cannot_ go around avenging Emily's shooting without going through the proper channels. This type of behavior just isn't tolerated in our line of work."

Riley headed to the door and stopped to give me one last look. "I do wonder why you wanted to hide your relationship with Emily. I believe there is so much more under the surface with you and I intend to find out what you're up to."

"I'm not up to anything."

He chuckled. "You're good – you even look innocent. I've been in the game too long to believe a word of your bullshit, Oswald. If I find _anything_ that puts Sal or my family in danger, I promise you're a dead man. But don't worry, Emily is family to me and out of respect for her I'll just put a bullet in your head."

The moment he was gone, I took a deep, cleansing breath.

Sean Riley was not just intelligent, but he was an impediment. I would have to see he was removed.

* * *

><p>Hours passed until dusk arrived.<p>

Falcone called and questioned me about Kirasaki's disappearance, but I pled ignorance. He believed me, unlike Mr. Riley.

Helen had fallen asleep in her chair; the poor woman was exhausted.

I sat close to Emily's bedside with my tie undone and my suit jacket abandoned over the back of my chair; our hands tightly wrapped together. My eyes ached and my stomach was screaming with hunger that I had no intention of satisfying.

My mind was deeply engaged with the problem of Riley when it happened.

A simple squeeze of my fingers.

I was startled and stared at her in disbelief. "Emily?"

The squeeze happened again.

I leaned forward and looked at her face.

Her eyes were just barely open; a mere slit. Emily was looking at me.

Lifting her hand, I pressed my lips against her knuckles. Kissing her reverently, I pulled back. "Don't try to speak. The tubes are going to be there for some time. You're going to be fine, I promise you."

She squeezed my fingers again and I felt a faint spark of hope.

The problems I'd been dealing with passed me by. For the first time in days, a genuine smile crossed my face.


	31. Chapter 31

**Thank you Lola93091, MusicOfMyMind, CeliaSingsSongs, Lady Ravanna, Franny C, Persephoniii, Emily, Jotunheim Storm, and JuJuGirl for taking the time to review!**

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><p>The pain was beyond all endurance. In my mind I was screaming in pure, unadulterated agony. I burned and ached and it felt as though my very bones were being ground away. The feel of Oswald's hand in mine was a welcome relief – the coolness of his skin a balm from the fire consuming me.<p>

He was seated next to me; leaning against the hospital bed with large eyes. Tears streaked his pale skin and his hair had gone terribly flat as it was wont to do when he began sweating. The expression he wore was one of joy mingled with unapologetic anxiety.

Oswald's tie was loose around his neck and he had undone the first three buttons of his starched shirt. He wasn't wearing a jacket though his waistcoat was in order. Dark shadows settled beneath his eyes making their blue-green color all the more startling.

With his oval face, pointed nose, and short, thin stature most women wouldn't have given him a second glance, but I found him to be the most beautiful man I had ever known. The pleasure it gave me just to look at him was beyond words.

I wanted to speak, but Oswald's caution was correct – a tube was jammed down my throat and an oxygen mask rested over my mouth and nose. Every inch of me felt like it had been beaten with a baseball bat.

Shifting my eyes I caught sight of my mother sleeping in the chair on the opposite side of the bed. Her chest rose and fell gently and there were deep purple bruises ringing her eyes as well. Guilt swelled inside of me. I should have been a hell of a lot more careful with the shit that had been going on with the Yakuza.

I should never have offered to bring Peyton out at all.

Panic began to build inside of me.

I looked to Oswald; burying my nails in the tender flesh of his hand. My throat was denied me, but I could hope he might have some understanding of my needs.

If Peyton had been hurt, I would never forgive myself for it.

Oswald was unflinching as I gored him. He reached out and touched my face with great gentleness. "Peyton wasn't hurt in the attack and Mr. Riley was greatly appreciative of your efforts to protect her." He tilted his head as he leaned close. "Is that what was worrying you, darling?"

I relaxed my hand in his.

He pressed a gentle kiss against my cheek before settling back in the chair. The way he kept his voice carefully modulated and low told me that he was trying not to wake my mother. His thumb caressed my knuckles with great gentleness.

"I know about the pregnancy," he murmured just loud enough to hear. "When were you going to tell me?"

Extreme weariness accompanied by a stinging sense of sadness settled over me. If I had been able to speak, I would have told him about the scheduled abortion. He must have been angry – justifiably so. I had told him I was taking the pill faithfully, which I had been, and he didn't need to worry about taking precautions.

Oswald Cobblepot was not the fatherly type. He was a thief, a mobster, and a murderer – not someone who should have children. Oswald had his good points: intelligence, ambition, and aching sweetness. The good didn't outweigh the bad; perhaps counterbalanced instead. I was no better than he was.

We didn't deserve to have children. Babies were innocent when they came into the world and they deserved the best start in life possible. Truthfully, Oswald and I were involved in the shaded side of life. How could that possibly provide our child a good start?

Would Oswald one day bring a head home for the baby?

The thought made me dizzy.

I shook my head; the effort painful.

Oswald was silent a moment before releasing a long, low sigh. "I see. We can talk about this later when you are feeling up to par."

My eyes shot to his when he pulled his hand from mine.

He pressed a finger against his lips as he pulled out his phone. I listened to him check in with Don Maroni. Oswald looked irritated as he listened to the Mafioso for several minutes without interruption. "I understand, Don Maroni, I'll come right away."

Oswald returned his cell phone to his jacket. "I have to go, my love. Duty calls, I'm afraid." He picked up my hand and kissed it before standing. "I'll come back tomorrow to see you."

I watched him button his shirt and fix his tie before sliding on his jacket. No one could know how much I wanted to embrace him. He gathered up his overcoat and smiled at me one last time before quietly leaving the room.

I glanced at my mother before letting my mind rove freely.

* * *

><p>My eyes were still closed, but I was completely conscious. Every sound, no matter how small, penetrated my brain. I simply kept my eyes closed out of sheer boredom; unable to communicate with those around me.<p>

"You promised to keep her safe, Sean. I would have never badgered Emily into working for you otherwise. She was supposed to have a _legitimate_ job – nothing related to the mob."

My mother's voice was soft, but her tone was shrill. I remembered that tone well from the times I misbehaved as a young girl.

Sean's soft Irish lilting voice was gentle as he responded. "She does have a legitimate job. I hired Emily to protect Peyton. I had no idea the Yakuza would be ballsy enough to try and murder my daughter. I'm sorry, Helen, I truly am."

Mother released an angry sniff. "Oh you've protected Emily just like you promised to protect Martin."

"Are you certain Emily isn't conscious?"

"Very," Mother returned quietly. "The doctors said it could be some time before Emily regains consciousness."

Hours had passed since Oswald left to attend to his duties. Rather than spend all that time being fawned over by my mom, unable to speak, I had chosen to present myself as still sleeping. Now I was rather glad I had chosen to do so.

"Helen, I tried to help Martin, but he didn't want anything from me. I can't blame him one bit after what we did to him. Neither of us is exactly innocent, are we?"

My ears pricked up.

"Don't you dare say we made a mistake! Not with our daughter and grandchild two feet away."

Sean's voice was heavy and dark. "Helen…"

"Don't touch me!" She hissed.

Shock surged through me leaving numbness in its wake. The words my mother had spat contradicted everything I had ever known; the person I thought I was. Perhaps the pain meds were causing me to hallucinate…

"I've tried to keep our daughter safe," Sean stated quietly. "I had no idea she was taking up with Cobblepot. She certainly wouldn't be pregnant with his child if I'd known he was sniffing around."

Now it all made sense – Mom's _'friendship'_ with Riley and her henpecking me about taking up employment with the man.

She'd been fucking Riley behind my father's back. It shocked me Riley had taken up with Mom; she was beautiful but a good ten years his senior. Sean Riley didn't strike me as the type who enjoyed banging older women, but I guess I was wrong.

I'm not sure what was more hurtful – Mom being unfaithful to Dad or Riley pretending to be Dad's friend while he made a cuckhold out of him. Rage was shimmering deep inside me behind the pain.

I wanted to get up and hurt them both.

The worst part is that my Dad knew according to Riley. Martin Maguire knew his wife bore another man's child and he treated me no differently than my older brother, Andrew. Part of me wondered if Andrew belonged to Dad, but since Andrew was Martin's mirror image I knew the answer.

At that moment, I loved my father more than I ever had.

Sean Riley might have been my biological father, but he was _not_ my family. Martin Maguire was my dad.

"You tried and failed," she retorted. "Now look at her! Christ sakes, she even got involved with a known snitch. A _SNITCH_, Sean. Nothing will get you killed faster in this city than being associated with a snitch."

"What would you have had me do? Tie her down like a common animal? Helen, Emily's a grown woman."

The slap echoed through the room.

It took all my willpower to keep my eyes closed. I was dying to see the look on Riley's face. I knew from experience the wallop my mother's hand could deliver.

"I expected you to keep our daughter from fucking up her life, Sean." The words echoed through the room.

"You vicious witch."

Another blow reverberated through the air; flesh against flesh. "That's for being a damn failure."

Harsh male breathing was punctuated by a soft feminine cry of distress. The sounds of a struggle were followed by small whimpers and a deep groan. Unable to stop myself, I raised my eyelids just a little and felt sick to my stomach at the sight that greeted me.

Sean Riley had my mother's hand twisted behind her back in one hand as he plundered her mouth ruthlessly; his other hand was digging into the softness of her ass and pressing her against him. The embrace was as passionate as it was a clear demonstration of Riley's ability to dominate her.

It was then that I knew they were involved again. Perhaps they had never stopped being lovers.

My eyes dropped shut again; unable to bear the sight of them together.

Finally the sound of them stepping away from one another greeted my ears.

Riley's voice was hoarse when he spoke. "Don't you worry – Cobblepot's days are numbered. I'm keeping an eye on him. By the time Emily is discharged from this place, I'll have him buried."

"You better." I was appalled to hear my mother as a party to murder. "Snitches get stitches, Sean – it's the Gotham way. Emily needs to be kept safe and our grandchild. If one of Falcone's people catch wind she's pregnant by this guy, they'll kill her."

"Too bad," he returned. "If it wasn't for his blatant disloyalty, I wouldn't mind having him for a son-in-law. He's one bright little bastard."

Mother released a sigh. "I know. I like him aside from his penchant for being a tattle-tale. Will Maroni go along? I know he has a lot invested in the kid."

"Who knows," Riley replied. "Sal has a soft spot for Cobblepot."

"Falcone certainly won't miss him."

I felt like I was listening to a hardened member of the mafia – not my mother.

Riley chuckled. "I'd rather talk about you and me. How long has it been? Twelve years?"

"Thirteen," she answered.

"Come stay with me, Helen. I'll make it worth your while."

"No, I need to stay close to Emily. Besides, Peyton doesn't need to wake up some night and hear us screaming like a pair of banshees. Not in the bed you shared with your wife."

"We could meet at the hotel."

"Perhaps."

Riley's voice was soft. "Come on, Helen, and we'll get you something to eat. You look ill. Emily will be fine on her own for an hour or so."

Mother hesitated. "All right."

The minute the door closed behind them, I opened my eyes and stared at the beautiful bouquet of white roses Oswald had brought for me. Tears formed in my eyes and leaked down my face.

I knew one thing…

_If they dare lay one finger on Oswald, I was going to kill them both._

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><p><strong>So this is the end for Obsession and I sincerely thank each and every one of the readers who reviewed, made the story a favorite, and followed. I will be posting a follow up story to Obsession called <em>Ardent<em>****. I should be posting the first chapter in a few days. Will Emily have a heart to heart with her mother? Can she warn Oswald before Riley gets the drop on him? What will Oswald and Emily decide regarding the pregnancy? It will all be in the next story.**

**A friend recently asked what the soundtrack would be to Obsession. I've posted the music I listened to while writing the story to my profile for those interested. The only song I would point out as a definite would be _'Down By the Salley Gardens'_ by Peter Hollens.**

**Again, thank you all and I can't wait to start posting the new story. **


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